t
as white as her fresh linen gown, but diffusing about her some radiance
from within that seemed not wholly of earth. He met her at the foot of
the stairs, and took her hand in his.

"Edith! I've been longing for you all day!"

"And I for you," she returned, avoiding his eyes.

"Listen, dear. Give me the rest of it, won't you?"

[Sidenote: For the Last Time]

"The rest of what?"

"The little time you have left with us--this afternoon and to-night."

For a moment she hesitated, then looked him full in the face, her eyes
mutely questioning his.

"I won't," he said. "I promise you that."

"Then I'll come."

"Out on the river?"

"Yes."

"It's for the last time, Edith," he said, sadly; "the very last time."

"I know," she returned. Her lips quivered a little, but her eyes did not
falter. Clear and steadfast they looked far beyond him into the future
where he had no part. The golden lights in them seemed signal fires now,
summoning him mysteriously onward to some high service, not alien, even
though apart from her.

They said no more until they were in the boat, swinging out upon the
sunlit river. Then Edith glanced at him, half shyly.

"Wasn't last night wonderful?"

"Wasn't it!" he echoed. "I never understood before."

"Nor I."

She trailed a white hand in the water as they sped up stream. The light
touched her hair lovingly, bringing gleams of gold and amber from the
depths.

[Sidenote: Alden's Silence]

"Dear," he said, "did you think that, after last night, I could urge you
to violate your solemn oath or even to break your word?"

"I hoped not, but I didn't know."

"I see it all clearly now. If more was meant for us to have, more would
be right for us to take. Back in the beginning this was meant for you
and me--just this, and nothing more."

"How could there be more? Isn't love enough?"

"Surely, but the separation hurts. Never even to see your face or touch
your hand again!"

"I know," she said, softly. "I'll want you, too."

A thousand things struggled for utterance, but, true to his word, he
remained silent. His whole nature was merged into an imperious demand
for her, the cry of the man's soul for the woman who belonged to him by
divine right.

"If love were all," she breathed, as though in answer to it, "I'd come."

"If love were all," he repeated. "I wonder why it isn't? What is there
on earth aside from this? What more can heaven be than love--without the
fear of parting?"