While Mellen and Elizabeth rode off through the golden afternoon, Elsie and Tom Fuller came in from a stroll about the grounds. They had seen the husband and wife galloping down the avenue, and as they entered the hall, Elsie said:

"They have left us to amuse ourselves the best way we can; what shall we do, Tom Fuller?"

"I'm ready for anything."

"We might go out rowing."

"Oh, Elsie!"

"Only Grant would be angry, and you have grown afraid of the water."

"No wonder, where you are concerned," cried Tom. "I can't think of that dreadful day without a shudder."

"I don't allow myself to think of it at all," said Elsie.

She led the way into the library and sat down in a low chair, throwing off her garden-hat, and beginning to arrange the wild flowers which she held in her hands around the crown.

"What color is this, Tom?" she asked, holding up a delicate purple blossom that drooped its head, as if faint with its own perfume.

Tom's ignorance of color was a never-failing source of amusement to her. He looked at the flower very seriously; then after reflection said, in the tone of a man who was certain of being perfectly correct for once:

"That's blue, of course; I am not quite blind, whatever you may think."

Elsie screamed with delight.

"Oh, you delicious old goose! I suppose you call this one pink?"

"Yes," said Tom, confident that he must be right this time; "I suppose the most prejudiced person would have to call that pink."

"It's the most delicate lavender," cried Elsie, in fresh shrieks of ecstasy at Tom's blindness. "Oh, I never saw such a stupid in all my life."

Tom rubbed his forehead for an instant, then Elsie's laughter proved so contagious that he burst into merriment as hearty as her own.

"I don't suppose," said Tom, "there's such an idiot on the face of the earth as I am."

"I really don't suppose there is," replied Elsie, candidly.

"It is absolutely beyond belief," said Tom.

"It is," answered Elsie.

"And I shall never be any better," cried Tom.

"I have told you so a thousand times," rejoined Elsie, humming a tune, inclined to perfect truthfulness for once.

Tom's face lengthened for an instant, he gave his hair another unmerciful combing with his fingers.

"And you think there's not the least help for it?"

"Not the very least in the world, Tom, not a gleam of hope! But don't feel bad about it; I am tired of brilliant men; everybody is something wonderful now-a-days; it's really fatiguing."

"Do you think so?" demanded he; "do you really?"

"Upon my honor."

"Then I'm glad I am a donkey," said Tom, energetically.

"And so am I," returned Elsie. "There, see, isn't that a lovely wreath?"

She held up the hat for Tom to scent the delicious fragrance of the garland twisted around it.

"You take the color quite out of them, holding them near your cheeks," said Tom, with a glance of admiration.

"I declare you are getting complimentary! You shall have a wild rosebud for your button-hole in payment; kneel down here, while I put it in."

Tom dropped on his knees while Elsie leisurely selected the flower. She was talking all the while, and Tom on his part would have been glad to prolong the situation indefinitely, for the pleasure of having her little face so close to his, and her hands flirting the blossoms about his lips was entrancing.

"No," pursued she, "I am tired of brilliant men; they always make my head ache with their grand talk. You know I'm a childish little thing, Tom, and learned discussions don't suit me."

"You're a fairy, a witch, an enchanted princess!" cried Tom.

"Exactly," replied Elsie. "Perhaps a verbena would look better than a rosebud, Tom."

Tom cared very little what she put in his button-hole; a thistle, thorns and all, would have been precious to him if her hands had touched it, and he would have torn his fingers against the prickles with an exquisite sense of enjoyment.

"No, the rose is the prettiest," said Elsie, and she threw the verbena away, and began her task again.

"Are you tired; do you want to get up, Tom?"

"You know I'd rather be here than in heaven!" he exclaimed.

Elsie gave him one of her bewildering glances.

"You don't mean that," said she; "you know you don't!"

"I do, I do! Oh, Elsie!"

"Keep still, keep still. You jump about so that I can't fasten the rose; there, I've lost the pin; no, here it is."

She was so busy with her work now that her face bent quite close to his, her fair curls touched his cheeks, her breath stirred the hair on his temples; the intoxication of the moment carried Tom beyond all power of self-restraint.

He snatched Elsie's two hands and cried out:

"I must speak; I shall die if I don't! I haven't said a word since I came back; I know it's useless; but I love you, Elsie, I do love you."

She struggled faintly for an instant, then allowed him to keep her hands, and looked down into his face through her drooping lashes with an expression that made Tom's head fairly reel.

"Don't be angry with me," he pleaded; "don't drive me away! I'll never open my lips; just let me speak now! You can't think how much I love you, Elsie. I'd cut myself into inch pieces if it would do you any good. I'd die for you."

"I would rather you lived," whispered Elsie.

Tom caught the words; a mad hope sprang up in his honest heart; he knew that it was folly, but he could not subdue it then.

"If you could only learn to love me," he went on, hurriedly; "I'd be a slave to you, Elsie! I am rich now; I could give you everything your heart desired; if you could only care for me; such lots of candies and pretty things."

"You saved my life, Tom," she returned, in that same thrilling whisper which shook the very heart in his bosom.

"Oh, don't bring that up as a claim," he said; "what was I born for except to be useful to you? But I love you so; if you could only make up your mind to endure my ugliness and my awkward ways, and—and——"

"You are a great big fellow and I like that, and don't think you ugly," said Elsie; "and I don't care if you are awkward. I am sick of men that walk about like ballet-dancers."

"You only say that out of good-nature," said Tom; "you are afraid of hurting my feelings."

"Don't I always say what I think?" rejoined she.

"But you don't care for me—you couldn't love me!"

"You have told me so three times already," said Elsie.

But all the while there was something in her face and voice which made him persevere. He had never thought to speak of his love to her again. This was the last, last time; but he would open his whole heart now, she should see the exact truth.

In his great excitement, Tom forgot all bashfulness; he did not halt in his speech, but poured out his story in strong, manly words, that must have awakened at least a feeling of respect in any woman's bosom.

"I tried to cure myself," continued Tom. "I thought absence—entire change—might make a difference in my feelings. But when the two years ended I came back, only to find my love grown deeper from the lapse of time, with every feeling more firmly centred there. You speak kindly to me sometimes. You pity me—at least you pity me! But you couldn't love me, of course; that is impossible! Let me get up—I mustn't talk any more—let me go!"

But Elsie's hand still rested upon his shoulder,—she did not stir.

"You could not love me," repeated Tom; "never, never: you have told me so ever so many times."

"I was silly and wicked," she whispered; "I am wiser now."

Her words lifted Tom into the seventh heaven. He cried out:

"Don't trifle with me, Elsie—not just now—I couldn't stand it!"

"I am not trifling with you, Tom."

"You don't mean that you care for me?"

His voice was broken and low. He waited for her to push him away, to break the spell rudely, but her hand never moved from his shoulder. It seemed to rest there with a caressing pressure, as a bird settles on a fondling hand, and still the fair curls swept his cheek.

"Elsie! Elsie!" he cried, half-wild with struggling emotions.

"Dear Tom," she murmured again.

"Oh, are you in earnest?" he almost sobbed. "Could you take me, Elsie? Let me be your slave—ready to tend you—to care for you—only living for your happiness!"

Elsie shook her head archly:

"You would grow tired of petting me."

"Never, never! You know it!"

"I should be a dreadful little tyrant—it is in my nature; you would never have a will of your own."

"I wouldn't want it; I wouldn't ask it!"

"I should flirt and drive you wild."

"I would never try to stop you."

"I should tease you incessantly."

"You'd only make me the happier."

"I should tell you all sorts of fibs."

"There would be no necessity, for I would not dispute your wishes."

"You would grow tired of that."

"Only try me."

"You couldn't love me always, and pet me, and never get out of patience, and think I was perfect."

"I could—I should—I always shall! Oh, Elsie, Elsie, I love you so—I love you so!"

"Get up, Tom; you are a foolish old goosey!"

Tom started to his feet; those playful words were a cruel waking. He stood before her painfully white, and there was a suppressed sob in his voice as he cried, in passionate reproach:

"Oh, Elsie! Elsie!"

She gave a wicked laugh at his distress.

"So you really were in earnest?" she demanded.

"You know that I was," he said. "You are cruel—cruel!"

"Ah, now you are angry—now you begin to hate me!"

"Never, Elsie! If you tore my heart and stamped on it, I could not hate you."

"But you are angry; and you said you could be patient."

"I could, if you cared for me only the least bit!"

"Oh, you selfish monster! There, Tom, kneel down again; you have shaken my flower out of your coat."

"No," said Tom, passionately; "I can't play now! This is dreadful earnest to me, Elsie, however great sport it may be to you."

"Then you refuse my gift?"

"I can't trifle now—don't ask it."

"And you mean to rush off and leave me?"

"I had better."

"Very well. If you refuse me my one little wish!"

"I'll stay if you want me to," cried Tom. "I'll do anything you bid me. But do be serious for a minute, Elsie. Just answer me one question."

"Only one? Will that satisfy you?"

"To set the matter at rest," pursued he. "I'll never trouble you again. I won't open my lips——"

"Then how shall I know what you want to ask?" she interrupted.

Tom fairly groaned.

"I do believe you are a witch, Elsie; one of those snow women in the old German stories."

"Lurlei—Lurlei!" she sang, flourishing the blossoms about his head.

Tom dashed off the flowers in a blind despair. The scene was growing too much for him to bear.

"Yes," he said, drearily, "I'll go—I'll go! I shan't trouble you again. I hope the day may never come when you will be sorry, Elsie."

He was so pale and trembled so violently, that she was absolutely terrified.

"Tom, don't look so!" she exclaimed. "I only wanted to tease you. I wouldn't have you leave me for the world; I should be wretched!"

"Now you are kind again! I will stay. I won't tire you with telling you of my love—"

"But I want to hear," interrupted Elsie.

"Oh, little child, it could do you no good! I suffer, Elsie, I suffer!"

"Tom, you're a goose—what you call a goney!"

"I know it, dear!"

"And you are just as blind as a bat."

"I suppose I am," he replied, dejectedly.

"And you're too stupid to live," cried Elsie, going into a great excitement. "Don't you know a woman can say one thing and mean another?"

"Yes," said Tom, with more energy, "I do know that. I know it too well."

"Great Mr. Wisdom!" said she mockingly. "Then can't you understand—don't you see?"

He looked at her in bewildered surprise. She was smiling tenderly in his face.

"Elsie!" he cried.

She let her hands fall in his.

"I don't want you to go," she whispered, "never—never!"

"You love me—you will marry me?"

She did not speak, but she made no resistance when Tom caught her to his heart and rained kisses on her face, utterly bewildered and unable to comprehend anything except that happiness had descended upon his long night at length.

But Elsie raised herself, pushed him off and said, with a dash of her old wickedness:

"I'll tease you to death, Tom!"

"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed. "Oh, say it once—say 'I love you!'"

"I do love you, Tom—there!"

In an instant she flashed up again, while he was covering her hands with kisses, crying:

"My little Elsie! My own at last!"

"No more sentiment," said she. "Let's be reasonable, Tom; the catastrophe has reached a climax."

But it was a long time before Tom Fuller could regain composure enough to talk at all coherently, or in what Elsie termed a sensible manner.

"It's so sudden," he said. "And to have so much happiness just when I thought the last rope was going out of my hand! Why, I feel like the fellow who clung all night to the side of a precipice, expecting every moment to be dashed down a thousand feet, and when daylight came found he had hung within a foot of the ground all the while!"

"The comparison is apt and delicious," said Elsie, laughing.

"And you love me! Only say it again, Elsie—just once!"

"I won't!" said she. "But I'll box your ears if you don't stop behaving like a crazy man."

Tom caught Elsie up in his arms and ran twice with her across the floor, paying no more attention to her cries and struggles than if she had been a baby.

"That's for punishment!" said Tom.

"Let me down! Please let me down!" pleaded Elsie. "I know you'll drop me! Oh, you hurt me, Tom!"

Tom placed her on the sofa and seated himself by her side. But she started away and ran upstairs, sending back a laugh of defiance.