Athalie

The girl was trembling when he stopped the car at the front door,

sprang out, and aided her to descend.

A man in overalls came up, diffidently, and touched his broad straw

hat. To him Clive gave a low-voiced order or two, then stepped forward

to where the girl was standing.

"It is too beautiful--" she began, but her voice failed, and he saw

the sensitive lips tremulous in their silence and the eyes brilliant

with the menace of tears.

He drew her arm through his and they went in, moving slowly and in

silence from room to room. Only the almost convulsive pressure of her

arm on his told him of a happiness too deep for expression.

On the landing above he offered her the key to her mother's room.

"Nothing is changed there," he said; and, fitting the key, unlocked

the door, and turned away.

But the girl caught his hand in hers and drew him with her into the

faded, shabby room where her mother's chair stood in its accustomed

place, and the faded hassock lay beside it.

"Sit here," she said. And when he was seated she dropped on the

hassock at his feet and laid her cheek on his knees.

The room was very still and sunny; her lover remained silent and

unstirring; and the girl's eyes wandered from carpet to ceiling and

from wall to wall, resting on familiar objects; then, passing

dreamily, remained fixed on space--sweet, brooding eyes, dim with the

deepest emotion she had ever known.

A new, profound, and thrilling peace possessed her--a heavenly sense

of tranquillity and security, as though, somehow, all problems had

been solved for her and for him.

Presently in a low, hushed, happy voice she began to speak about her

mother. Little unimportant, unconnected incidents came to her

mind--brief moments, episodes as ephemeral as they had been

insignificant.

Sitting on the faded hassock at his feet she lifted her head and

rested both arms across his knees.

"It is all so perfect now," she said,--"you here in mother's room, and

I at your feet: and the sunny world waiting for us outside. How mellow

is this light! Always in the demi-dusk of this house there seemed to

me to linger a golden tint--even on dark days--even at night--as

though somewhere a ray of sun had been lost and had not entirely faded

out."

"It came from your own heart, Athalie--that wonderful and golden heart

of yours where light and warmth can never die.... Dear, are you

contented with what I have ventured to do?"