Athalie

On the brink of the slope, but firmly imbedded, there had been a big

mossy log. She discovered it presently, and drew him down to a seat

beside her, taking possession of one of his arms and drawing it

closely under her own. Then she crossed one knee over the other and

looked out into the magic half-light of a woodland which, to her

childish eyes, had once seemed a vast and depthless forest. A bar of

sunlight fell across her slim shoe and ankle clothed in white, and

across the log, making the moss greener than emeralds.

From far below came pleasantly the noise of the brook; overhead leaves

stirred and whispered in the breezes; shadows moved; sun-spots waxed

and waned on tree-trunk and leaf and on the brown ground under foot. A

scarlet-banded butterfly--he they call the Red Admiral--flitted

persistently about an oak tree where the stain of sap darkened the

bark.

From somewhere came the mellow tinkle of cow-bells, which moved

Athalie to speech; and she poured out her heart to Clive on the

subject of domestic kine and of chickens and ducks.

"I'm a country girl; there can be no doubt about it," she admitted. "I

do not think a day passes in the city but I miss the cock-crow and the

plaint of barn-yard fowl, and the lowing of cattle and the whimper and

coo of pigeons. And my country eyes grow weary for a glimpse of green,

Clive,--and for wide horizons and the vast flotillas of white clouds

that sail over pastures and salt meadows and bays and oceans. Never

have I been as contented as I am at this moment--here--under the sky

alone with you."

"That also is all I ask in life--the open world, and you."

"Maybe it will happen."

"Maybe."

"With everything--desirable--"

She dropped her eyes and remained very still. For the first time in

her life she had thought of children as her own--and his. And the

thought which had flashed unbidden through her mind left her silent,

and a little bewildered by its sweetness.

He was saying: "You should, by this time, have the means which enable

you to live in the country."

"Yes."

Cecil Reeve had advised her in her investments. The girl's financial

circumstances were modest, but adequate and sound.

"I never told you how much I have," she said. "May I?"

"If you care to."

She told him, explaining every detail very carefully; and he listened,

fascinated by this charming girl's account of how in four years, she

had won from the world the traditional living to which all are

supposed to be entitled.