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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Darrel of the Blessed Isles"


"I do not ask you, now, to say that you love me," said the young
man. "You are young and do not know your own heart."
She rose on tiptoe and fondly touched his cheek with her fingers.
"But I do love you," she whispered.
"I thank God you have told me, but I shall ask you for no promise.
A year from now, then, dear, I shall ask you to promise that you
will be my wife sometime."
"Oh, let me promise now," she whispered.
"Promise only that you will love me if you see none you love
better."
They were slowly nearing the door. Suddenly she stopped, looking
up at him.
"Are you sure you love me?" she asked.
"Yes," he whispered.
"Sure?"
"As sure as I am that I live."
"And will love me always?"
"Always," he answered.
She drew his head down a little and put her lips to his ear. "Then
I shall love you always," she whispered.
Mrs. Vaughn, was waiting for them at the fireside. They sat
talking a while.
"You go off to bed, Polly," said the teacher, presently. "I've
something to say, and you're not to hear it."
"I'll listen," said she, laughing.
"Then we'll whisper," Trove answered.
"That isn't fair," said she, with a look of injury, as she held the
candle.


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