he age of thirty-seven, a room in her breast adorned and ready for first love; find it pitiful, if you must, t

ch, wet from his bath, bobbed on the sand- stone parapet, shook himself, and piped a note or two; away up the stream, among the alders, birds were chasing and courting; from above the Bayfield elms, out of spaces of blue, the larks' s

had come to her: this happiness to which, alone, in darkness, depressed by every look into the mirror, by every casual proof that her brothers and intimates accepted the verdict as final, her soul had been loyal-a forgotten servant of a neglectful lord. In the silence of her own room, in her garden, in the quiet stir of household duties, and again during the long evenings while she sat knittin

w faint and indefinite in the glory of being loved. Instinct, too, thrust it into the background; for as Raoul grew definite so must his youth, his circumstances, the world's laughter,

ury to canter up the entire length of Bayfield hill, she mus

Yes, it has happened to you; but why? how?" It so happened that she must meet him the next day. Narcissus had engaged him to make drawings of the Bayfield pavement, a new series to supersede hers in an enlarged edi

a-ink?" he asked, and after a minute she marvelled at her own self-possession. Even when he left them to work out the measurements together (and it flashed upon her that henceforth they would often be left together, her

rot

she entreated hoar

but, failing, lifted her eyes for mercy. They

recoiled from it. He released her hand and waited, watching her. She stood upright by the table, her shoulder tu

tter than I-that this is the end. Oh, yes"-as he would have interrupted-"it is beautiful-for me. But I am old and you a

and again, and she

, lifting her head, nodded t

u love me?

we can talk about it once and for all. Charles"-she hesitated over the name-"dear, I have been thinking. Since we see this so clearly, it can be no

r your talkin

she laughed. "Well-yes, you may kiss my hand. But I must not have it on my conscience that I am hiding from Endymion and Narcissus what they have a right to know. Of course they would be angry if they knew that I-that I was fond of you at all; but they would have no right, for they cou

cannot las

ce could its ending make? Ah, yes, then I should lose you!" she cried

he, and they laughed an

auderies; by instinct she avoided setting up any illusion which he could not share; unconsciously and naturally she rested her strength on the maternal, protective side of love. Raoul came to her with his woes, his difficulties, his quarrel against fate; and she talked them over with him, and advised him almost as might a wise elder sister. She had read the Confessions; and, in spite of the missing pages, wi

aoul to Bayfield almost daily, and, as

olly eying her with an odd expression-once especially, when she had looked up as the girl was plaiting her hair, and their eyes met in the glass. And once again Dorothea had sent her to the library with a no

" her mistress asked,

"I suppose that class of person cannot b

atened, "if anything of the kind happens again. If Mr. Endymion is to let you two have a house when yo

t, and wa

overhanging the Rhone, the city where he had spent his school days, and at the age of nine had seen Patriot L'Escuyer stabbed to death in the Cordeliers' Church with women's scissors; had seen Jourdan, the avenger, otherwise Coupe-tête, march flaming by at the head of his brave brigands d'Avignon. He told of the sequel, the hundred and thirty men, women and babes slaughtered in the dungeon of the Glacière; of Choisi's Dragoons and Grenadiers at the gates, and how, with roses scattered before them, they marched through the streets to the Castle, entered the gateway and paused, brought to a stand by the stench of putrefying flesh. He and his school mates had taken a holiday-their master being in

er part. Did he talk of Avignon, for instance? It was the land of Laura and Petrarch, and she, seated with half-closed eyes beneath the Bayfield elms, saw the pair beside the waters of Vaucluse, saw the roses and orange-trees and arid plains of Provence, a

eat part of that afternoon in the garden, now in the

. It cannot end so!" h

or long his old s

r end for me,

living on shadows?-one would say, almost cheerfully! I

you loved me I should never be quite unhappy. But you must fin