ches still stared at her with
dull and incurious eyes. Not a cloud stained the intense blue of the
sky; and over the bright grass on the hillside the sunshine quivered
like an immense swarm of bees.

As she approached the fountain where she had first met Stephen, it
seemed to her that a romantic light, a visionary enchantment, fell over
this one spot of ground, and divided it by some magic circle from every
other place in the world. The crude iron railing, the bare gravel, the
ugly spouting fountain which was stripped of every leaf or blade of
grass--these things appeared to her through an indescribable glamour, as
if they stood there as the visible gateway to some invisible garden of
dreams. Whenever she looked at this ordinary spot of earth a breathless
realization of the wonder and delight of life rushed over her. She knew
nothing of the mental processes by which these external objects were
associated with the deepest emotions of the heart. Only when she visited
this place that wave of happiness swept over her; and she lived again as
vividly as she lived in the moments when Stephen was with her and she
was looking into his eyes.

His voice called her while she stood there; and turning quickly, she saw
that he was coming toward her down the walk. Immediately the loungers on
the benches vanished by magic; the murmur of the fountain became like
the music of harps; and the sunshine on the grassy hill was alive with
the quiver of wings. As she went toward him she was aware of the blue
sky, of the golden green of the trees, of the happy sounds of the birds,
and over all, as if it were outside of herself, of the rapturous beating
of her own heart.

"I was looking for you," he said when he reached her.

"And you found me at last." Her eyes were like wells of joy.

"I'd never have given up until I found you." The words were trivial; but
it was the things he said without words that really mattered. Already
they had established a communion that was independent of speech. He had
never told her that he loved her; yet she saw it in every glance of his
eyes and heard it in every tone of his voice.

While they walked slowly up the hill she wondered trustingly why, when
he had told her so plainly in every other way that he loved her, he
should never have put it into words. There could not be any doubt of it;
perhaps this was the reason he hesitated. The present was so perfect
that it was like the most exquisite hour of a spring