gardens
floated upward the freshness of acres of thick sward and deep fern
thicket, the fragrance of roses and a thousand flowers, the tender
sighing of the wind through the huge oaks and beeches bordering the
avenues, and reigning like kings over the seeming boundless grassy
spaces.

As lovers have walked since the days of Eden they walked together, no
longer duke and duchess, but man and woman--near to Paradise as human
beings may draw until God breaks the chain binding them to earth; and,
indeed, it would seem that such hours are given to the straining human
soul that it may know that somewhere perfect joy must be, since sometimes
the gates are for a moment opened that Heaven's light may shine through,
so that human eyes may catch glimpses of the white and golden glories
within.

His arm held her, she leaned against him, their slow steps so harmonising
the one with the other that they accorded with the harmony of music; the
nightingales trilling and bubbling in the rose trees were not affrighted
by the low murmur of their voices; perchance, this night they were so
near to Nature that the barriers were o'erpassed, and they and the
singers were akin.

"Oh! to be a woman," Clorinda murmured. "To be a woman at last. All
other things I have been, and have been called 'Huntress,' 'Goddess,'
'Beauty,' 'Empress,' 'Conqueror,'--but never 'Woman.' And had our paths
not crossed, I think I never could have known what 'twas to be one, for
to be a woman one must close with the man who is one's mate. It must not
be that one looks down, or only pities or protects and guides; and only
to a few a mate seems given. And I--Gerald, how dare I walk thus at your
side and feel your heart so beat near mine, and know you love me, and so
worship you--so worship you--"

She turned and threw herself upon his breast, which was so near.

"Oh, woman! woman!" he breathed, straining her close. "Oh, woman who is
mine, though I am but man."

"We are but one," she said; "one breath, one soul, one thought, and one
desire. Were it not so, I were not woman and your wife, nor you man and
my soul's lover as you are. If it were not so, we were still apart,
though we were wedded a thousand times. Apart, what are we but like
lopped-off limbs; welded together, we are--_this_." And for a moment
they spoke not, and a nightingale on the rose vine, clambering o'er the
terrace's balustrade, threw up its little head and sang as if to the
myriads of