She loved for him to regale her with the stories of his past, the days of ancient Greece. It seemed at first the most beautiful afternoon of all time to her, and perhaps the thrill of her excitement did add a distinctive and culminating keenness to the day. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. I cannot explain beyond that. Am I mistaken? Is your heart mine?" "It is—it is; and has ever been," replied Winifred, falling upon his neck. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest.
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