You know I love you, Allan." "I know you are an angel!" cried the young man.

"In all the wide world there is none like you." Then he clasped the little white hands more tightly in his own, and whispered sweet words to her that brought a bright flush to her face and a love light to her eyes.

She drooped her head with the coy, pretty shyness of a bird, listening to words that seemed to her all poetry and music.
It was a pretty love scene.

The lovers stood at the end of an old-fashioned orchard; the fruit hung ripe on the trees--golden-brown pears and purple plums, the grass under foot was thick and soft, the sun had set, the dew was falling, and the birds had gone to rest.
The girl, standing under the trees, with downcast, blushing face and bright, clear eyes, was lovely as a poet's dream.

She was not more than seventeen, and looked both young and childlike for that age.