t once, and I haven't even a tintype
of him, and yet we're going to be married."

"That's so. I hadn't thought of that. I guess you're right." Then she
added, generously, "I'm glad you're goin' to be married, Rosemary, and I
hope you'll be happy. You've got it comin' to you."

"Thank you," said Rosemary, choking a little on the words. "Thank you,
dear Aunt Matilda." Then someway, in the dark, their arms found each
other and their lips met.

XXV

A Wedding

[Sidenote: By the Sea]

The air was crystalline and cool, yet soft, and full of a mysterious,
spicy fragrance. Blue skies arched down at the vast curve of the horizon
to meet a bluer sea. Snowy gulls swept lazily through the clear blue
spaces, their hoarse crying softened into a weird music. Upon the
dazzling reaches of white sand, Rosemary was walking with Alden.

He had his arm around her and her face was turned toward his. He was
radiant with youth and the joy of living. It was in the spring of his
step upon the sand, the strong, muscular lines of his body, and, more
than all, in his face. In his eyes were the strange, sweet fires that
Rosemary had seen the day she was hidden in the thicket and saw him
holding Edith in his arms. But it was all for her now, for Rosemary, and
the past was as dead as though it had never been.

As they walked, they talked, saying to each other the thousand dear and
foolish things that lovers have said since, back in the Garden, the
First Woman looked into the eyes of the First Man and knew that God had
made her to be his mate. Suddenly a white cliff loomed up on the beach
before them and from its depths came a tremendous knocking, as though
some one were endeavouring to escape from a hopeless fastness of stone.

[Sidenote: A Stroke]

They paused, but the knocking continued, growing louder and louder. Then
a hoarse voice called "Rosemary! Rosemary!"

The girl came to herself with a start, rubbing her eyes. Gaunt and grey
in the first dim light of morning, Aunt Matilda stood over her, clad in
a nondescript dressing-gown.

"Rosemary!" she whispered, shrilly. "Come quick! Ma's had a stroke!"

They ran back to the old lady's room. In the girl's confused remembrance
the narrow hallway seemed to be a continuation of the white, sunlit
beach, with the blue sky and sea changed to faded wall paper, and the
cliff gone.

Grandmother lay upon her bed, helpless, uttering harsh, guttural sounds
that seemingly bore no relation