revels. He heeded not the exclamations of the crowd; but suddenly conscious of the tremulous throbbing of the heart beating so near to his, he halted in the midst of the dreamy exaltation.
"You will die if we do not stop," he said, looking at Margaret's dilated eyes and panting breast.
"Such a dance is worth a life," she answered; and laughed, and panted for her lost breath. He drew her from the crowd and placed her on a seat beneath an arbor shaded by a group of heavy-scented magnolia-trees. She drew her breath with labored gasps, growing less and less frequent, and he fanned her with a branch of green leaves.
"Have I found you what you needed?"
"Yes, yes; it was what I dreamed of."
"I have made you feel young and happy and alive?"
"Yes."
"When you need youth and happiness and life again, will you send for me?"
She nodded.
"Always?"
"Always? Don't talk about anything so serious! Always means to-morrow, next week, next year, the future, and that most terrible thought the mind can conceive,—Eternity! Let me
