He inquired for Elnora at the
back door and was told that she was reading under the willow. He went
around the west end of the cabin to her. She sat on a rustic bench
they had made and placed beneath a drooping branch. He had not seen her
before in the dress she was wearing. It was clinging mull of pale green,
trimmed with narrow ruffles and touched with knots of black velvet; a
simple dress, but vastly becoming. Every tint of her bright hair, her
luminous eyes, her red lips, and her rose-flushed face, neck, and arms
grew a little more vivid with the delicate green setting.
He stopped short. She was so near, so temptingly sweet, he lost control.
He went to her with a half-smothered cry after that first long look,
dropped on one knee beside her and reached an arm behind her to the
bench back, so that he was very near. He caught her hands.
"Elnora!" he cried tensely, "end it now! Say this strain is over. I
pledge you that you will be happy. You don't know! If you only would say
the word, you would awake to new life and great joy! Won't you promise
me now, Elnora?"
The girl sat staring into the west woods, while strong in her eyes was
her father's look of seeing something invisible to others. Philip's arm
slipped from the bench around her. His fingers closed firmly over hers.
"Elnora," he pleaded, "you know me well enough. You have had time in
plenty. End it now. Say you will be mine!" He gathered her closer,
pressing his face against hers, his breath on her cheek.
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