Before them, through the canopy of over-arching trees, was seen, like a picture in its frame of foliage, a fine view of the open country and the bay now bathed in purple haze of evening.

But the fairest prospect that ever opened had no more attraction for Thurston than if it had been a view of chimney tops from a back attic window.  He passed his right hand around Marian’s shoulders, and drew her closer to his side, and with the other hand began to untie her bonnet strings.

“Lay off this little bonnet.  Let me see your beauteous head uncovered.  There!” he said, putting it aside, and smoothing her bright locks.  “Oh, Marian! my love! my queen! when I see only the top of your head, I think your rippling, sunny tresses your chief beauty; but soon my eyes fall to the blooming cheek—­there never was such a cheek—­so vivid, yet so delicate, so glowing, yet so cool and fresh—­like the damask rose bathed in morning dew—­so when I gaze on it I think the blushing cheek your sweetest charm—­ah! but near by breathe the rich, ripe lips, fragrant as nectarines; and which I should swear to be the very buds of love, were not my gaze caught up to meet your eyes—­stars!—­and then I know that I have found the very soul of beauty!  Oh! priceless pearl!  By what rare fortune was it that I ever found you in these Maryland woods?  Love!  Angel!  Marian! for that means all!” he exclaimed, in a sort of ecstasy, straining her to his side.

And Marian dropped her blushing face upon his shoulder—­she was blushing not from bashful love alone—­with it mingled a feeling of shame, regret, and mistrust, because he praised so much her form and face; because he seemed to love her only for her superficial good looks.  She would have spoken if she could have done so; she would have told what was on her heart as earnest as a prayer by saying: 

“Oh, do not think so much of this perishable, outward beauty; accident may ruin it, sickness may injure it, time will certainly impair it.  Do not love me for that which I have no power over, and which may be taken from me at any time—­which I shall be sure to lose at last—­love me for something better and more lasting than that.  I have a heart in this bosom worth all the rest, a heart that in itself is an inner world—­a kingdom worthy of your rule—­a heart that neither time, fortune, nor casualty can ever change—­a heart that loves you now in your strong and beautiful youth, and will love you when you are old and gray, and when you are one of the redeemed of heaven.  Love me for this heart.”

But to have saved her own soul or his, Marian could not then have spoken those words.

So he continued to caress her—­every moment growing more and more enchanted with her loveliness.  There was more of passion than affection in his manner, and Marian felt and regretted this, though her feeling was not a very clearly defined one—­it was rather an instinct than a thought, and it was latent, and quite subservient to her love for him.