asy of
life.

The two looked into each other's faces. They seemed to be transfigured,
each to the other.

"You must not go back," he said. "They would not understand you nor me.
We will never be so near a great happiness, a great holiday. It is
holiday time. Let us go to the mountains."

She drew a sigh as if all her cares and duties dropped from her, then
she smiled and a comprehending light sparkled in her eyes.

"Very well, to the clouds if you will."

THE END OF LOVE IS LOVE OF LOVE.

They lay on the cliff where the warm sun fell. Beneath them were rocks,
lichen-spotted above, and orange and russet and pink beneath.

Around the headland the ocean ravened with roaring breath, flinging
itself ceaselessly on the land, only to fall back with clutching snarl
over the pebbles.

The smell of hot cedars was in the air. The distant ships drove by with
huge sails bellying. Occasional crickets chirped faintly. Sandpipers
skimmed the beach.

The man and woman were both gray. He lay staring at the sky. She sat
with somber eyes fixed on the distant sea, whose crawling lines
glittered in ever-changing designs on its purple sweep.

They were man and wife; both were older than their years. They were far
past the land of youth and love.

"O wife!" he cried, "let us forget we are old; let us forget we are
disillusioned of life; let us try to be boy and girl again."

The woman shivered with a powerful, vague emotion, but she did not look
at him.

"O Esther, I'm tired of life!" the man went on. "I'm tired of my
children. I'm tired of you. Do you know what I mean?"

The woman looked into his eyes a moment, and said in a low voice:

"No, Charles." But the man knew she meant yes. The touch of her hand
grew cold.

"I'm tired of it all. I want to feel again the wonder and mystery of
life. It's all gone. The love we have now is good and sweet and true;
that of the old time was sweeter. It was so marvelous. I trembled when I
kissed you, dear. I don't now. It had more of truth, of pure,
unconscious passion, and less of habit. Oh, teach me to forget!"

He crept nearer to her, and laid his head in her lap. His face was
knotted with his passion and pain.

The wife and mother sighed, and looked down at his hair, which was
getting white.

"Well, Charles!" she said, and caressingly buried her fingers in his
hair. "I'll try to forget for your sake."

He could not understand her. He did not try. He lay with closed eye