ropped from the wing of the angel that brought him. On
their lips the phrase means much; on all others it is a deliberate lie.
Noticeable, too," she said, dropping in an instant from the passionate
into a low, mocking tone, "when people are married, though they should
have sixty children, they throw the whole onus on God. When they are
not, we hear nothing about God's having sent them. When there has been
no legal contract between the parents, who sends the little children
then? The devil perhaps!" She laughed her little silvery, mocking laugh.
"Odd that some men should come from hell and some from heaven, and yet
all look so much alike when they get here."

Waldo wondered at her. He had not the key to her thoughts, and did not
see the string on which they were strung. She drew her cloud tighter
about her.

"It must be very nice to believe in the devil," she said; "I wish I did.
If it would be of any use I would pray three hours night and morning on
my bare knees, 'God, let me believe in Satan.' He is so useful to those
people who do. They may be as selfish and as sensual as they please,
and, between God's will and the devil's action, always have some one
to throw their sin on. But we, wretched unbelievers, we bear our
own burdens: we must say, 'I myself did it, I. Not God, not Satan; I
myself!' That is the sting that strikes deep. Waldo," she said gently,
with a sudden and complete change of manner, "I like you so much, I love
you." She rested her cheek softly against his shoulder. "When I am with
you I never know that I am a woman and you are a man; I only know that
we are both things that think. Other men when I am with them, whether
I love them or not, they are mere bodies to me; but you are a spirit; I
like you. Look," she said quickly, sinking back into her corner, "what
a pretty pinkness there is on all the hilltops! The sun will rise in a
moment."

Waldo lifted his eyes to look round over the circle of golden hills; and
the horses, as the first sunbeams touched them, shook their heads and
champed their bright bits, till the brass settings in their harness
glittered again.

It was eight o'clock when they neared the farmhouse: a red-brick
building, with kraals to the right and a small orchard to the left.
Already there were signs of unusual life and bustle: one cart, a wagon,
and a couple of saddles against the wall betokened the arrival of a few
early guests, whose numbers would soon be largely increased. To