n waves. She seemed exalted, transfigured, as by a radiance that
shone from within.

He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. "Kiss me,
won't you, dear?"

And so, Rosemary came to her woman's birthright, in the shelter of a
man's arms.

V

The House of the Broken Heart

[Sidenote: Climbing in the Dark]

The road was steep and very dark, but some unseen Power compelled her to
climb. Dimly, through the shadow, she saw shafts of broken marbles and
heard the sound of slow-falling waters. The desolation oppressed her,
and, as she climbed, she pressed her hands tightly to her heart.

She was alone in an empty world. All traces of human occupation had long
since vanished. Brambles and thorns grew thickly about her, and her
brown gingham dress was torn to shreds. Rosemary shuddered in her dream,
for Grandmother and Aunt Matilda would be displeased.

And yet, where were they? She had not seen them since she entered the
darkness below. At first she had been unable to see anything, for the
darkness was not merely absence of light but had a positive, palpable
quality, it enshrouded her as by heavy folds of black velvet that
suffocated her, but, as she climbed, the air became lighter and the
darkness less.

[Sidenote: The Path in the Garden]

She longed to stop for a few moments and rest, but the pitiless Power
continually urged her on. Bats fluttered past her and ghostly wings
brushed her face, but, strangely, she had no fear. As her eyes became
accustomed to the all-encompassing night, she saw into it for a little
distance on either side, but never ahead.

On the left was a vast, empty garden, neglected and dead. The hedge that
surrounded it was only a tangled mass of undergrowth, and the paths were
buried and choked by weeds. The desolate house beyond it loomed up
whitely in the shadow. It was damp and cold in the garden, but she went
in, mutely obeying the blind force that impelled her to go.

She struggled up the path that led to the house, falling once into a
mass of thistles that pricked and stung. The broken marbles, as she saw
now, were statues that had been placed about the garden and had fallen
into decay. The slow-falling water was a fountain that still murmured,
choked though it was by the dense undergrowth.

One of the steps that led to the house had fallen inward, so she put her
knee on the one above that and climbed up. She tested each step of the
long flight carefully befor