louds as a mother might, upon its deep and
tender bosom. There were lily-pads to look after, too, bird-shadows and
iridescent dragon flies, sunset lights to deepen and spread afar, and,
at night, all the starry hosts of heaven to receive and give back, in
luminous mist, to the waiting dusk.

Dawn came to the river while the earth still slept; it was day upon the
waters while night lingered upon the shore. And, too, long after the
abundant life of field and meadow was stilled in dreamless peace, past
the power of the fairy lamp-bearers to stir or to annoy, the river lay
awake and watchful, as some divinely appointed guardian of the Soul of
Things.

[Sidenote: Murmur of Voices]

The peace of it came to Rosemary, as she walked, with the sense of
healing, of balm. She saw plainly how Grandmother had wronged her, every
day of her life, but set resentment aside, simply, as something that did
not belong to her. The appointed thing came at the appointed time in the
appointed way--there was no terror save her own fear. Outside herself
was a mass of circumstance beyond her control, but, within herself, was
the power of adjustment, as, when two dominant notes are given, the
choice of the third makes either dissonance or harmony.

Tired, at last, for she had walked far upstream into the hills, Rosemary
sat down upon a convenient rock to rest. The shores were steep, now, but
just beyond her was a little cleft between two hills--a pleasant, sunny
space, with two or three trees and a great rock, narrowing back into a
thicket. She went on, after a few moments, down the slope to the level
place, lay at full length upon the thick turf, and drank thirstily from
the river.

In a moment, she heard the slow splash of oars, and the murmur of
voices, both low and deep, though one evidently belonged to a man and
one to a woman. Boats were infrequent upon the river, and, not caring to
be seen, she stepped back into the thicket until it should pass.

[Sidenote: Mute and Frightened]

The voices came nearer and nearer, the man's full-toned and vaguely
familiar, the woman's musical, vibrant, and, in a way, familiar too.

A single powerful stroke brought the boat into view, as it rounded the
curve. It was Alden and Edith. The girl stepped back still farther into
the sheltering thicket, repressing the cry of astonishment that rose to
her lips. Acutely self-conscious, it seemed that the leaves were no
protection; that she stood before them hel