the leaves and the falling water of the
fountain. And very far away a sweet confused murmuring grew upon her
ears.

Silently her soul answered the far hail; her heart, responding, echoed
a voiceless welcome till she became fearful lest it beat too loudly.

Then, with infinite precaution, noiselessly, and scarcely stirring,
she turned and laid her lips again where they had rested all night
long and, lying so, dreamed of miracles ineffable.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Clive's enforced idleness had secretly humiliated him and made him
restless. Athalie in her tender wisdom understood how it was with him
before he did himself, and she was already deftly guiding his balked
energy into a brand new channel, the same being a bucolic one.

At first he had demurred, alleging total ignorance of husbandry; and,
seated on the sill of an open window and looking down at him in the
garden, she tormented him to her heart's content:

"Ignorant of husbandry!" she mimicked,--"when any husband I ever heard
of could go to school to you and learn what a real husband ought to
be! Why _will_ you pretend to be so painfully modest, Clive, when you
are really secretly pleased with yourself and entirely convinced that,
in you, the world might discover a living pattern of model
domesticity!"

"I'm glad you think so--"

"_Think!_ If I were only as certain of anything else! Never had I
dreamed that any man could become so cowed, so spiritless, so
perfectly house and yard broken--"

"If I come upstairs," he said, "I'll settle _you_!"

Leaning from the window overlooking the garden she lazily defied him;
turned up her dainty nose at him; mocked at him until he flung aside
the morning paper and rose, bent on her punishment.

"Oh, Clive, don't!" she pleaded, leaning low from the sill. "I won't
tease you any more,--and this gown is fresh--"

"I'll come up and freshen it!" he threatened.

"Please don't rumple me. I'll come down if you like. Shall I?"

"All right, darling," he said, resuming his newspaper and cigarette.

She came, seated herself demurely beside him, twitched his newspaper
until he cast an ominous glance at his tormentor.

"Dear," she said, "I simply can't let you alone; you are so bland and
self-satisfied--"

"Athalie--if you persist in tormenting me--"

"I torment you? _I?_ An humble accessory in the scenery set for you?
I?--a stage property fashioned merely for the hero of the drama to sit
upon--"

"All right! I'll d