in garden beds. Interchange of
glances, delicate and sweet as blue water-flowers on the surface of
the stream; a look in either face, vanishing as swiftly as the scent
of briar-rose; melancholy, tender as the velvet of moss--these were the
blossoms of two rare natures, springing up out of a rich and fruitful
soil on foundations of rock. Many a time Eve had seen revelations of the
strength that lay below the appearance of weakness, and made such full
allowance for all that David left undone, that the slightest word now
might bring about a closer union of soul and soul.

Eve opened the door, and Lucien sat down without a word at the little
table on an X-shaped trestle. There was no tablecloth; the poor little
household boasted but three silver spoons and forks, and Eve had laid
them all for the dearly loved brother.

"What have you there?" she asked, when she had set a dish on the table,
and put the extinguisher on the portable stove, where it had been kept
hot for him.

Lucien did not answer. Eve took up a little plate, daintily garnished
with vine-leaves, and set it on the table with a jug full of cream.

"There, Lucien, I have had strawberries for you."

But Lucien was so absorbed in his letter that he did not hear a word.
Eve came to sit beside him without a murmur; for in a sister's love
for a brother it is an element of great pleasure to be treated without
ceremony.

"Oh! what is it?" she cried as she saw tears shining in her brother's
eyes.

"Nothing, nothing, Eve," he said, and putting his arm about her waist,
he drew her towards him and kissed her forehead, her hair, her throat,
with warmth that surprised her.

"You are keeping something from me."

"Well, then--she loves me."

"I knew very well that you kissed me for somebody else," the poor sister
pouted, flushing red.

"We shall all be happy," cried Lucien, swallowing great spoonfuls of
soup.

"_We_?" echoed Eve. The same presentiment that had crossed David's mind
prompted her to add, "You will not care so much about us now."

"How can you think that, if you know me?"

Eve put out her hand and grasped his tightly; then she carried off the
empty plate and the brown earthen soup-tureen, and brought the dish that
she had made for him. But instead of eating his dinner, Lucien read
his letter over again; and Eve, discreet maiden, did not ask another
question, respecting her brother's silence. If he wished to tell her
about it, she could wait; if