began
to run. She touched her goal within ten feet of the house, and he stood
still and looked at the hand upon his arm. "Oh!" she panted. "Don't go!
I--I--I--"

"I--?"

"I love you. Oh!"

If any window saw, it was discreet and never told, remembering perhaps a
youth of its own. The embrace was not prolonged beyond a minute. Unity,
red and beautiful, released herself, looked about her like a startled
dryad, and made again for the catalpa. Fairfax Cary followed, and they
took that portion of the circular bench which had between it and the
house the giant bole of the tree. Before them dipped the shady hollow,
filled with the rustling of leaves, cool and retired as its parent
forest.

"Oh, yes, yes; it's true, gospel true!" cried Unity. "But I'll not be
married for a long, long year!"

"A year! You're going to be cruel again."

"No, no, I'm not cruel! I never was. 'Twas all your imagination. When I
marry, I'll be married hard and fast, hand and foot, wind and rain,
sleet and snow, June and December, forever and a day, world without end,
amen! holidays and all! I may live forever, and I'll be married all that
time. I want just one little year to say good-bye to Unity Dandridge
in."

"We'll take her to Greenwood with us."

"No, no. We'll bury her in the flower garden the day before. Just one
year--please!"

"Oh, Unity, when you say 'please'!"

"This is August. I'll marry you twelve little months from now--please!"

"A thousand things may happen--"

"They won't--they won't. Don't you love Unity Dandridge? Then let her
live a little longer!"

"Kiss me--"

Unity did as she was bid. The sunlight left the hollow, but stayed
bright upon the hills beyond. It was August, but in a treetop somewhere
a solitary bird was singing. Nearer the earth the crickets and cicadas
began their evening concert, a shrill drumming in the warm, still air.
There was a scent of dry grass, a feeling of summer at its full. Dewy
freshness, tender green, mist of bloom, and a thousand songs were far
away, and yet upon the bench beneath the catalpa there was spring.

"The sun is setting," said Unity at last. "Let us go speak to Uncle
Dick."

"He'll be glad, I think. May I stay to supper? I want to hear Unity
Dandridge sing afterwards."

"Yes, Uncle Dick will be glad--he and Uncle Edward will be very glad. I
don't believe that Unity Dandridge will want to sing to-night. She'll be
thinking of that grave in the flower garden."

"No! Sh