"Oh, stop a moment!" They pulled up on the brink of a sea of blue.

All around them the bluebells lay glowing in the sunshine.

The colour and sparkle of them was a physical delight; and with occasional lingering tufts of primroses among them and the young oak scrub pushing up through the blue in every shade of gold and bronze, they made an enchanted garden of the glade.
Falloden dismounted, tied up his horse, and gathered a bunch for his companion.
"I don't know--ought we ?" she said regretfully.

"They are not so beautiful when they are torn away.

And in a week they will be gone--withered!" She stooped over them, caressing them, as, taking a strap from the pocket of his own saddle, he tied the flowers to her pommel.
He looked up impetuously.
"Only to spring again!--in this same wood--in other woods--for us to see.