Dick’s term of probation had passed away, and his affection gathered power as the obstacles were removed. He had not ceased to love her since they resided together in the cottage of James Hungerford. He had not concealed his love; he had even been compelled to proclaim it in public. He was ready to speak now; and when the party returned to Pine Hill, he had begun to watch for his opportunity. It was a bright June day, and the garden was in the flush of its summer beauty. Dick had taken his early morning walk through the estate, and on his return he met Julia. She wore her morning dress. She was in easy costume; and Dick thought she had never looked so beautiful, though it is quite probable she always had. He had been thinking of her, and very likely he was in condition to be peculiarly enthusiastic. “Good morning, Dick”--she always called him so, except in the presence of strangers. “Have you finished your morning ramble? No matter if you have; you must come with me.” “With the greatest pleasure. I like to walk here; with you it will be a double satisfaction.” “Were you ever in Ireland, Dick?” “Never.” “I thought you had been.” “Why, Julia?” “I judged so from the remark you made--a double satisfaction! You must have been to Cork; you must have kissed the blarney stone.” “I think I could kiss something nearer home that would give me the persuasive tongue.” “Why, Dick! I am positively afraid of you,” laughed she. “I assure you I am entirely harmless.” “You talk like a Spanish gallant this morning. What is the matter with you? What has come over you? Have you been reading Don Quixote?” “No; I have only been thinking of you.” “Thinking of me! I thought you never indulged in trivial reflections. But I have a very serious matter to propose.” “So have I.” “You!” “I have, but of course it is your right to be heard first.” “Do you know that it was very stupid of you not to think of a rustic bridge when you were making these grounds?” replied she, evidently gathering some intimation of the subject of Dick’s intended discourse from his looks. “I am glad I was so stupid.” “This is rebellious.” “By no means. It is a happy reflection now, that everything was not done in the beginning.” “Why, Dick?” “Because the neglect has given you a thought, and afforded me this opportunity.” “What opportunity?” she asked, turning away to hide her confusion. “The opportunity to do what you wish me to do--build a bridge, if that is what you desire.” “That is what I desire. This way, Dick; I propose to build the bridge over the brook--not over the river.” “Over both, if you wish.” “How complaisant you are, Dick! Why can’t you be a little obstinate, and tell me that a bridge cannot be built; that it would spoil the grounds; that it wouldn’t be safe, or something of that kind? This is the place. You ought to have put a rustic bridge here, instead of such a one as the stupid county commissioners would put over the river.”