"Ida!"

It was the lover's cry of appeal, the prayer for love uttered by the
heart that loves; and it went straight to her own heart.

She put out her hand, and he took it and held it in both his.

"I have come for your answer," he said in the low voice that thrills;
the voice which says so much more than the mere words. "I could not
wait--I tried to keep away from you until to-morrow; but it was of no
use. I am here, you see, and I want your answer. Don't tell me it is
'No!' Trust me, Ida--trust to my love for you. I will devote my life to
trying to make you happy. Ah, but you know! What is your answer? Have
you thought--you promised me you would think?"

"I have thought," she said, at last. "I have thought of nothing else--I
wanted to tell you the truth--to tell you truly as I would to
myself--but it is so hard to know--Sometimes when I think that you may
go away, and that I may not see you again, my heart sinks, and I feel,
oh! so wretched."

He waited for no more, but caught her to him, and as she lay in his
arms only slightly struggling, her face upturned, he bent his own,
almost white with passion, and kissed her on the lips, and not once
only.