They looked over undulations of the chalk, bare stubble fields and
climbing woods, bathed in the pale gold of a February sunset. The light
was pure and wan--the resting earth shone through it gently yet
austerely; only the great woods darkly massed on the horizon gave an
accent of mysterious power to a scene in which Nature otherwise showed
herself the tamed and homely servant of men. Below were the trees of
Beechcote, the gray walls, and the windows touched with a last
festal gleam.
Suddenly Marsham dropped down beside her.
"I see it all with new eyes," he said, passionately. "I have lived in
this country from my childhood; and I never saw it before! Diana!--"
He raised her hand, which only faintly resisted; he looked into her
eyes. She had grown very pale--enchantingly pale. There was in her the
dim sense of a great fulfilment; the fulfilment of Nature's promise to
her; implicit in her woman's lot from the beginning.
"Diana!--" the low voice searched her heart--"You know--what I have come
to say? I meant to have waited a little longer--I was afraid!--but I
couldn't wait--it was beyond my strength. Diana!--come to me,
darling!--be my wife!"
He kissed the hand he held.
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