ad never
considered him in the light of a lover, had never thought seriously
about him at all, and that what he had taken to be an experienced woman
of the world was in reality an ignorant child at heart.

He felt vaguely relieved. There were evidently no ambushes, no
surprises, no pitfalls in this exquisite nature. There was really
nothing to withdraw from. He suddenly experienced a strong desire to go
forward, a more imperative desire than he had ever known about anything
before. Even as he was conscious of it Fay raised her eyes to his and it
passed away again, leaving a great tranquillity behind, together with a
mounting sense of personal power.

If Fay had spoken to him he had not heard what she had said. But he did
not mind having missed it. The meaning of the spring was reaching him
through her presence like music through a reed. He had never understood
it till now. Poor empty little reed! Poor entranced listener mistaking
the reed for music!

Can it be that when God made His pretty world He had certain things
exceeding sharp and sweet to say to us, which it is His will only to
whisper to us through human reeds: the frail human reeds on which we
sometimes deafly lean until they break and pierce our cruel hands?

The mystery of the spring was becoming clear and clearer. What Wentworth
had believed hitherto to be a deceptive voice was nothing but a
reiterated faithful prophecy, a tender warning to him so that he might
be ready when the time came.

"The primroses will soon be out," he said as if it were a secret.

"Very soon," she said, though they were out already. Fay always assented
to what was said.

"I must be going," she said, getting up. "I have walked too far. If I
sit here any longer I shall never get home at all."

"Let me take you home on Conrad."

Fay hesitated.

"I am frightened of horses."

"But not of Conrad. He is only an armchair stuffed to look like a horse.
And I will lead him."

Fay still hesitated.

He took an authoritative tone. He must insist on her riding home. She
was tired already, and it was a long mile up hill to Priesthope.

Fay acquiesced. To-day of all days she was not in a condition for
anything but a dazed acceptance of events as they came.

Wentworth lifted her gently onto the saddle, and put one small dangling
foot into a stirrup shortened to meet it.

She was alarmed and clutched Conrad's mane, but gradually her timidity
was reassured, and they set out slowly