Athalie

He knew that civilisation would lock them out and remain unconcerned

as to what became of them. Doubtless she knew it too, as she sat there

sewing on the frail garment which lay across her knee and singing

blithely under her breath some air with cadence like a berceuse.

* * * * *

During the "Children's Hour" she sat beside him, always quiet; or if

stirred from her revery to a brief exchange of low-voiced words, she

soon relapsed once more into that happy, brooding silence by the

firelight.

Then came dinner, and the awakened gaiety of unquenched spirits; then

the blessed evening hours with him.

But the last hour of these she called her hour; and always laid

aside her book or sewing, and slipped from the couch to the floor at

his feet, laying her head against his knees.

* * * * *

Snow came in December; and Christmas followed. They kept the mystic

festival alone together; and Athalie had a tiny tree lighted in the

room between hers and Clive's, and hung it with toys and picture

books.

It was very pretty in its tinsel and tinted globes; and its faint

light glimmered on the walls and dainty furniture of the dim pink

room.

Afterward Athalie laid away tinsel and toy, wrapping all safely in

tissue, as though to be kept secure and fresh for another

Christmas--the most wonderful that any girl could dream of. And

perhaps it was to be even more wonderful than Athalie had dreamed.

* * * * *

December turned very cold. The ice thickened; and she skated with

Clive on Spring Pond. The ice also remained through January and

February that winter; but after December had ended Athalie skated no

more.

Clive, unknown to her, had sent for a Shaker cloak and hood of

scarlet; and when it arrived Athalie threw back her lovely head and

laughed till the tears dimmed her eyes.

"All the same," he said, "you don't look much older in it than you

looked in your red hood and cloak the first day I ever set eyes on

you."

"You poor darling!--as though even you could push back the hands of

Time! It's the funniest and sweetest thing you ever did--to send for

this red, hooded cloak."

However she wore it whenever she ventured out with him on foot or in

the sleigh which he had bought. Once, coming home, she was still

wearing it when Mrs. Connor brought to them two peach turnovers.

A fire had been lighted in the ancient stove; and they went out to the

sun-parlour,--once the bar--and sat in the same old arm-chairs exactly

as they had been seated that night so long ago; and there they ate

their peach turnovers, their enchanted eyes meeting, striving to

realise it all, and the intricate ways of Destiny and Chance and Fate.