new birth. Jerome looked
for a moment at Lucina with no surprise. In a new world all things
may be, and impossibilities become commonplaces.

Then he sprang up, and went close to her. "Is it you?" he said, in a
sobbing voice.

Lucina looked at him piteously. She wanted to run away, but her limbs
trembled, her little hands twitched in the folds of her muslin skirt.
Jerome saw her trembling, and a soft pink suffusing her fair face,
even her sweet throat and her arms, under her thin sleeves. He knew,
with a sudden leap of tenderness, which would have its way in spite
of himself, why she was there. She had wanted to see him so, the dear
child, the fair, wonderful lady, that she had come through the heat
of this burning afternoon, stealing away alone from all her friends,
and even from her own decorous self, for his sake. He pointed to the
clear space under the pine where he had been lying. "Shall we sit
down there--a minute?" he stammered.

"I--think I--had better go," said Lucina, faintly, with the quick
impulse of maidenhood to flee from that which it has sought.

"Only a few minutes--I have something to tell you."

They sat down, Lucina with her back against the pine-tree, Jerome at
her side. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead it widened
into a vacuous smile. He looked at Lucina and she at him, then he
came closer to her and took her in his arms.

Neither of them spoke. Lucina hid her face on his breast, and he held
her so, looking out over her fair head at the wood. His mouth was
shut hard, his eyes were full of fierce intent of combat, as if he
expected some enemy forth from the trees to tear his love from him.
For the first time in his life he realized the full might of his own
natural self. He felt as if he could trample upon the needs of the
whole world, and the light of his own soul; to gain this first sweet
of existence, whose fragrance was in his face.

The strongest realization of his nature hitherto, that of the
outreaching wants of others, weakened. He was filled with the
insensate greed of creation for himself. He held Lucina closer, and
bent his head down over hers. Then she turned her face a little, and
their lips met.

Lucina had never since her childhood kissed any man but her father,
and as for Jerome, he had held such things with a shame of scorn.
This meant much to both of them, and the shock of such deep meaning
caused them to start apart, as if with fear of each other. Lucina