But in the next she felt an arm steal round her, and a gentle voice said, "Why, Hetty, what makes you cry?
I didn't mean to vex you.

I wouldn't vex you for the world, you little blossom.

Come, don't cry; look at me, else I shall think you won't forgive me." Arthur had laid his hand on the soft arm that was nearest to him, and was stooping towards Hetty with a look of coaxing entreaty.

Hetty lifted her long dewy lashes, and met the eyes that were bent towards her with a sweet, timid, beseeching look.

What a space of time those three moments were while their eyes met and his arms touched her! Love is such a simple thing when we have only one-and-twenty summers and a sweet girl of seventeen trembles under our glance, as if she were a bud first opening her heart with wondering rapture to the morning.