“Dear John,” she whispered. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. His heart beat wildly and he was afraid lest the strain be too much; but the girl shook her head and smiled and pointed to the top of the mountain. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. The fascination of the idea of throwing himself upon his knees and crying out all that was in his heart! As his eyes began to focus objects, he saw one of her arms extended upon the counterpane, in his direction, the hand clenched tightly. "If you'll write them, I'll illustrate them," observed Hogarth. We ourselves have been similarly circumstanced.
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