"But he's not looking, and oh, Cleone,--how can I bear to leave you
so soon? You are more to me than anything else in the world. You are
my life, my soul,--my honor,--oh my dear!"
"Do you--love me so very much, Barnabas?" said she, with a sudden
catch in her voice.
"And always must! Oh my dear, my dear,--don't you know? But indeed,
words are so small and my love is so great that I fear you can never
quite guess, or I tell it all."
"Then, Barnabas,--you will go?"
"Must I, Cleone? It will be so very hard to lose you--so soon."
"But a man always chooses the harder course, doesn't he, Barnabas?
And, dear, you cannot lose me,--and so you will go, won't you?"
"Yes, I'll go--because I love you!"
Then Cleone drew him deeper into the shade of the willows, and with
a sudden, swift gesture, reached up her hands and set them about his
neck.
"Oh my dear," she murmured, "oh Barnabas dear, I think I can
guess--now. And I'm sure--the boy--can't see us--here!"
No, surely, neither this particular brook nor any other water-brook,
stream or freshet, that ever sang, or sighed, or murmured among the
reeds, could ever hope to catch all the thrilling tenderness of the
sweet soft tones of Cleone's voice.
Pages:
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525