worship the very ground Paul walks on, and I esteem and like George as a brother.
It grows late, time has passed with such hurrying swiftness; through the dark stems of the trees before us shows the pale blue-green of the evening sky, cold and pure and beautiful exceedingly. Nature is robing herself in her cool twilight garment of silver grey, shrouding the trees and fields softly, as though preparing them for sleep; the sun has gone down, leaving a rack of amber and crimson clouds behind him, the leaves rustle gently in the autumn wind, that wanders over the face of the land.
"I must go home now," I say, springing up. "But, Paul, Paul—papa!"
"What of him?" asks my lover, pinching my cheek.
"He is furious at the notion of any of his daughters thinking of such a thing as being married."
"And he married himself, and had twelve children," says Paul, "which points the moral. Well, I am going to call on him to-morrow, and I shall tell him that you and I———"
"Do not!" I say, with much concern. "He would first of all kick you, or try to," I add, mentally measuring Paul's stalwart proportions; "then he would lock me up, and as he is going away in a fortnight, for some months, it would be a serious business, for no one would dare to let me out."
"Poor little woman!" he says; "they shall not treat her like that while I am anywhere near!"
"If you would not mind waiting," I say, wistfully; "if you would not say anything till he comes back, (it would not be very deceitful, would it?) we could have such a glorious time while he is away! I have been looking forward to such a dull one, too," I add, thoughtfully; "but now I shall be able to get into heaps of mischief."
"And do you think I am going to wait for you all that time,
