"

"I rather think I'm dreaming now," I admitted, for a great contentment
had fallen about us as we walked beneath the solemn trees.

The silence that followed was again stirred by her voice, saying:

"You mustn't think me childish, but I've always had a secret gateway to
a place--my Secret world--where everything is make-believe, and nothing
can be but truth and beauty. Often when Echochee was tiresome, or I was
tired, I used to slip away and go there."

"I wish you'd take me--won't you?"

"Oh, I can't," she quickly answered, stooping for a flower in our path,
holding it in both hands and leaning her face above it.

"Yes," at last I said, "I've a place like that; but I don't know whether
I live there in make-believe, or throwing off the make-believe we have
to wear in the world you're going to, I live honestly with myself. If
you won't take me to yours, sometime maybe you'll come to mine!"

Now, I had no intention of making love to her. We were talking only
about secret worlds and day-dreams.

"I'm afraid it might be difficult," she answered, dropping the flower
and walking a shade more slowly. "Our lives--yours and mine--are cast
along such opposite lines, it seems!"

"That's what Secret worlds are for," I told her, "----that, no matter
how far apart we are, our spirits may come and meet; live again, as
we've lived here; be happy again--as I've been." I turned, saying with a
laugh that was meant to convey an impression of insouciance--yet failing
rather miserably: "These two big pines here, Princess, actually make the
gateway to my pool--which is, in fact, my Secret world, because you
helped me build my home there. So, you see, it wouldn't be very
difficult, as you were about to enter without knowing it. Oh, I wish I
could tell you more about it!" And I then became silent, too helplessly
afraid to go on.

A brighter color had come into her throat and cheeks, but she was
smiling whimsically as she said:

"Then we must go around--find another path to the fort--mustn't we!"

She had stopped before me, poised delicately, almost swaying; and for
several seconds our eyes, that must have been charged with some
untranslatable excitement, held fast. Mine would not let go, and hers I
believe could not. Her hands, idly at her sides, were turned palms
forward, unconsciously suggestive of supplication.

"Do you know what you remind me of when you stand that way?" I asked.

"No," She looked away now, laughing lightl