"He has blessed me," Richard answered, in a reverent tone; "and
this is His last and sweetest mercy. Asenath, let me hear that
thee forgives me."
"I have forgiven thee long ago, Richard--forgiven, but not
forgotten."
The hush of sunset was on the forest, as they walked onward, side
by side, exchanging their mutual histories. Not a leaf stirred in
the crowns of the tall trees, and the dusk, creeping along between
their stems, brought with it a richer woodland odor. Their voices
were low and subdued, as if an angel of God were hovering in the
shadows, and listening, or God Himself looked down upon them from
the violet sky.
At last Richard stopped.
"Asenath," said he, "does thee remember that spot on the banks of
the creek, where the rudbeckias grew?"
"I remember it," she answered, a girlish blush rising to her face.
"If I were to say to thee now what I said to thee there, what would
be thy answer?"
Her words came brokenly.
"I would say to thee, Richard,--`I can trust thee,--I DO love
thee!'"
"Look at me, Asenath.
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