dense with sweet-shrub and honeysuckle. A
serene level light lay upon the glistening grass--the "clear shining
after rain." Now and then a shower of heavy drops loosened by the breeze
pattered through the magnolia tree near by. The great tree, splendid
with creamy blossoms, looked as though covered by a flight of doves. The
birds were at their evening gossip as though no storm had ever been. One
alighted on a branch close to her window, beside one of the white,
chalice-like flowers, and fluffing up its feathers in a sort of musical
frenzy, began its joyous song.

Sophy's heart swelled. It seemed to her that she and the bird and the
white, impassioned flower, and the spent storm, and repentant Bobby
crying "_Viva Dio!_" were all one. The whole, glad, drenched, shining
earth and all that clung to it seemed shouting "_Viva Dio!_"

And she stretched out her arms as though to embrace this thrilling
wonder called life, so that the bird broke off its song, and flew away
with a loud _frrrrt!_ of startled wings, leaving the great white flower
trembling as with ecstasy....

* * * * *

She put on an old, corn-coloured muslin frock for supper, made
cottage-fashion with a soft kerchief. It was one of her girlhood's
dresses. She was proud to find how easily it hooked about her slim
waist. She was still as slender as she had been at twenty. As she ran
lightly downstairs she sang to a tune of her own improvisation: "For the
rain is over and gone ... the time of the singing of birds has come...."

Her song stopped suddenly. The last turn of the staircase had brought
her face to face with a little group in the lower hall--Judge Macon,
Charlotte, and two men. One was her cousin Aleck Macfarlane, one was a
stranger--a young fellow of about twenty-six. Sophy was struck by the
pure Greek type of his head, silhouetted against the outer green of the
wet lawn. It looked like some classic bas-relief, seen so in shadow
against the light, gleaming grass--bronze on a background of verdigris.
He was introduced by Macfarlane.

"My friend, Morris Loring----"

Sophy learned that they had been caught by the storm when they were
about a mile from Sweet-Waters. They had taken refuge in a farm-house,
and then ridden on.

"We got horribly muddy," said Loring, glancing down at his riding
breeches and puttees which were plastered with red clay. He had a fresh,
clear voice. Sophy guessed that he was a New Yorker. Now th