Content is he to translate it from a thousand acts, which, to eyes that look not so acutely as a lover's, bear no signification; but when you tell me to seek happiness with another, well may the anxious question burst from my throbbing heart of, 'Did you ever love me, Flora ?'" Her senses hung entranced upon his words.

Oh, what a witchery is in the tongue of love.

Some even of the former colour of her cheek returned as forgetting all for the moment but that she was listening to the voice of him, the thoughts of whom had made up the day dream of her happiness, she gazed upon his face.
His voice ceased.

To her it seemed as if some music had suddenly left off in its most exquisite passage.

She clung to his arm--she looked imploringly up to him.