“This pleases you,” said Thurston.

She nodded, without removing her gaze.

“You find it charming?”

She nodded again, and smiled.

“You were never here before?”

“Never.”

“Marian, you are a lover of nature.”

“I do not know,” she said, softly, “whether it be love, or worship, or both; but some pictures spell-bind me.  I stand amidst a scene like this, enchanted, until my soul has absorbed as much of its beauty and glory and wisdom as it can absorb.  As the Ancient Mariner held with his ‘glittering eye’ the wedding guest, so such a picture holds me enthralled until I have heard the story and learned the lesson it has to tell and teach me.  Did you ever, in the midst of nature’s liberal ministrations, feel your spirit absorbing, assimilating, growing?  Or is it only a fantastic action of mine that beauty is the food of soul?”

She turned her eloquent eyes full upon him.

He forgot his prudence, forgot her claims, forgot everything, and caught and strained her to his bosom, pressing passionate kisses upon her lips, and the next instant he was kneeling at her feet, imploring her to forgive him—­to hear him.

Marian stood with her face bowed and hidden in her hands; but above the tips of her fingers, her forehead, crimsoned, might be seen.  One half her auburn hair had escaped and rippled down in glittering disorder.  And so she stood a few moments.  But soon, removing her hands and turning away, she said, in a troubled tone: 

“Rise.  Never kneel to any creature; that homage is due the Creator alone.  Oh, rise!”

“First pardon me—­first hear me, beloved girl!”

“Oh, rise—­rise, I beg you!  I cannot bear to see a man on his knee, except in prayer to God!” she said, walking away.

He sprang up and followed her, took her hand, and, with gentle compulsion, made her sit down upon a bank; and then he sank beside her, exclaiming eagerly, vehemently, yet in a low, half-smothered tone: 

“Marian, I love you!  I never spoke these words to woman before, for I never loved before.  Marian, the first moment that I saw you I loved you, without knowing what new life it was that had kindled in my nature.  I have loved you more and more every day!  I love you more than words can tell or heart conceive!  I only live in your presence!  Marian! not one word or glance for me?  Oh, speak!  Turn your dear face toward me,” he said, putting his hand gently around her head.  “Speak to me, Marian, for I adore—­I worship you!”

“I do not deserve to be loved in that way.  I do not wish it, for it is wrong—­idolatrous,” she said, in a low, trembling voice.

“Oh! what do you mean?  Is the love upon which my life seems to hang so offensive to you?  Say, Marian!  Oh! you are compassionate by nature; how can you keep me in the torture of suspense?”

“I do not keep you so.”

“You will let me love you?”