"To grow, live, die, looking on his face, Die, dying, clasped in his embrace!" For a moment she could not speak. She leaned back dizzily against the tree with her half-shut eyes upon his face--leaned there silently, and heard the night breeze sighing over her head, the river lapsing at her feet, whispering over and over to her heart, "Regret! Regret! Regret!" He would have taken her hand, but she waved him back. "Precious, speak to me," he urged. "Why are you so strange? Has my impulsiveness offended you? I pray you forgive me." She answered, in a low and hollow voice: "Listen to the river. It is saying again and again those words you heard that day, 'Too late! Too late!'" "Ah, no, my love, they are different now. Listen how clear and distinct the words, 'Love! Love! Love!'" But she did not smile; he saw her shudder and draw back as he advanced to her side. A sudden dreadful thought came over him like an icy chill. He faltered: "Can it be I have been over-confident? Am I mistaken in believing----" "Yes, oh, yes--a great mistake!" she breathed faintly, just loud enough for him to catch the words. He stood like one stunned, the hope and joy fading from his eyes, his heart sinking with despair. Then he found his voice, and cried hoarsely: "I must be going mad. I was as sure of your love, as sure of my happiness, as I am that God reigns in heaven. Do you mean that you do not love me, that you cannot marry me?" "Never! never!" "Child, child, you cannot be so cruel! Ah, give me a little hope to live on! Say you will try to love me. Let me teach you love's sweet lesson. Let me plead to you!" "Ah, no, no, no! Let me plead to you, Arthur--nay, Lord Chester!" and suddenly she was on her knees, at his feet, her white face uplifted in the moonlight, the burning tears upon her cheeks. Wild words came from the pale, writhing lips--startling words full of Ethel's repentance and Ethel's prayer for pardon. "You are not free, you dare not love another lest Ethel's despair blight your happiness. Go back to her, forgive her, and the old love will return," she sobbed. He had listened in terrified silence to every word. Now he took her hands and lifted her gently to her feet. "Do not kneel to me, little saint," he said sadly, and looked into her eyes. They could not meet his. The long lashes drooped and shadowed her cheek. Then he asked gently: "Would you build Ethel's happiness on the wreck of yours and mine, my darling?" "You must not call me your darling, you must not think of me. I am only a child, she says, too young to know what love is like. So," wearily, "you see there is no question of me. It is only you and Ethel--two lovers who have quarreled, and must make it up again." "Never! never!" he cried angrily. "She released me of her own free will--flung me off in scorn." "She repents! She prays you to return! Oh, Arthur, go!" "You can send me back to her! Ah, then, indeed, I dreamed a vain dream. You never loved me, never!"