When he entered she was seated as usual in the corner of the dingy little couch, under the small window looking into the garden, in the shadow.

She did not rise, but held out her hand to him.

He went hastily up to her, took the hand she offered, sat down beside her, and at once broke into a full declaration of his love--now voluble, now hesitating, now submissive, now persuasive, but humblest when most passionate.

Whatever the man's conceit, or his estimate of the thing he would have her accept, it was in all honesty and modesty that he offered her the surrender of the very citadel of his being--alas, too "empty, swept, and garnished!" Juliet kept her head turned from him; he felt the hand he held tremble, and every now and then make a faint struggle to escape from his; but he could not see that her emotion was such as hardly to be accounted for either by pleasure at the hearing of welcome words, or sorrow that her reply must cause pain.

He ceased at length, and with eyes of longing sought a glimpse of her face, and caught one.