Graydon felt that words were scarcely needed--that his manner had spoken unequivocally, and that hers had granted all; but he took her hand and looked earnestly into her downcast face.

"Oh, Stella--" he began.
A twig snapped in the adjacent grove.

She sprang up.

"Hush, Graydon," she whispered; "not yet.

Please trust me.