t in. I want to feel things that are young and
free and great, as the sky and sea and the wind. I am thirsty
sometimes to stand on the edge of the cliff and taste the free, free
air from off the sea that has no one else's thoughts in it. Do you
understand that?--the longing for something that does not belong to
any part, to any one?"

"Yes, I understand. I feel it too, sometimes."

"I knew you did. You see, it's because neither of us belong here--to
Marden--really. Oh, I don't mean it horridly. It's the dearest place
and they are all the dearest people; but the life, the big thought of
it all, isn't ours. _Our_ people didn't help make it."

Christopher made no answer. He was idly flinging bits of bark into his
hat. If he were but certain--oh, if he could but be certain she were
right! He looked up at her at last.

There could be no room for the grey shadows of doubt any longer. She
_was_ right. He felt it as he looked and as the thought she suggested
sank deeper into his mind. Was not he truly one with her in it? He,
too, had been conscious of a Life and History here at Marden not his
own, that exacted no obligations from him, but rather silently
insisted on the freedom. Such freedom, mated to hers, was the last
great boon he asked of life that had already given him so much. Still
he hesitated for very fear of losing the joy of the hour that would be
his and hers for eternity when he sealed it with the passionate words
in his heart.

"I know just what you mean," he said, "it is no disloyalty to them to
feel it--only loyalty to ourselves. As for the sea and all that, I
will motor you down to Milford whenever you like."

"Oh, Christopher!" She clasped her hands with joy like a child. "Have
you brought the new motor? What is it like?"

"It's a perfect love, Patricia. I drove it down from town to-day. Such
a road, stones, ruts--and it behaved like an angel although weighted
with an extra sixteen stone of colossal brutality--Peter Masters,
Esquire, millionaire."

"Oh, why on earth did you bring him down here?"

"He did not ask permission. He just came--wanted to see St. Michael.
Don't let's talk about him. Let's talk about ourselves. We are much
more interesting."

"Egoist!"

"Doesn't the plural number cancel the egoism? But I really have
something to tell you about myself. Two things, indeed, if you'll
kindly listen."

"I will try to be polite. Proceed." She ensconced herself comfortably
against the trunk o