ight of me
across the yard and silently beckoned. I went over and looked up at
her, waiting and smiling.

"Well, what is it?" I asked at length, as her eyes rested on me with
the fulness of affection.

"Nothing. I wanted to see you standing down there once more. Haven't
you thought of it? This is the last time--the last of the window, the
last of the garden, the end of the past. Everything after this will be
so different. Aren't you a little sorry that you are going to marry
me?"

"Will you allow me to fetch the minister this instant?"

In the evening they put on her bridal dress and sent over for me, and,
drawing the parlor doors aside, blinded me with the sight of her
standing in there, as if waiting in duty for love to claim its own. As
I saw her then I have but to close my eyes to see her now. I scarce
know why, but that vision of her haunts my mind mysteriously.

I see a fresh snow-drift in a secret green valley between dark
mountains. The sun must travel far and be risen high to reach it; but
when it does, its rays pour down from near the zenith and are most
powerful and warm; then in a little while the whole valley is green
again and a white mist, rising from it, muffles the face of the sun.

Oh, Georgiana! Georgiana! Do not fade away from me as I draw you to
me.

My last solitary candle flickers in the socket: it is in truth the end
of the past.

IV

Last summer I felled a dead oak in the woods and had the heart of him
stored away for my winter fuel: a series of burnt-offerings to the
worshipful spirit of my hearth-stone. There should have been several
of these offerings already, for October is almost ended now, and it is
the month during which the first cool nights come on in Kentucky and
the first fires are lighted.

A few twilights ago I stood at my yard gate watching the red domes of
the forest fade into shadow and listening to the cawing of crows under
the low gray of the sky as they hurried home. A chill crept over the
earth. It was a fitting hour; I turned in-doors and summoned Georgiana.

"We will light our first fire together," I said, straining her to my
heart.

Kneeling gayly down, we piled the wood in the deep, wide chimney. Each
of us then brought a live coal, and together we started the blaze. I
had drawn Georgiana's chair to one side of the fireplace, mine
opposite; and with the candles still unlit we now sat silently watching
the flame spread. What need was