All that was required was, that those sparks should be gently fanned--not heedlessly extinguished.
Little was said by the two young persons, as they slowly paced the terrace.

Both felt embarrassed: Jocelyn longing to give utterance to his feelings, but restrained by timidity--Aveline trembling lest more might be said than she ought to hear, or if obliged to hear, than she could rightly answer.

Thus they walked on in silence.

But it was a silence more eloquent than words, since each comprehended what the other felt.
How much they would have said was proclaimed by the impossibility they found of saying anything! At length, Jocelyn stopped, and plucking a flower, observed, as he proffered it for her acceptance, "My first offering to you was rejected.
May this be more fortunate." "Make me a promise, and I will accept it," she replied.
"Willingly,", cried Jocelyn, venturing to take her hand, and gazing at her tenderly.

"Most willingly." "You are far too ready to promise," she rejoined with a sad, sweet smile.