it into a
long water lane where the maples met overhead and the low soft leaves
kept up a continual whispering. It was as dark as a tunnel, but he
knew every inch of the way and presently shot out into another lake,
small enough for its shores to be sharply outlined under the full light
of the moon, which appeared to have poised itself directly overhead.

Here it was less silent than on the larger lake. There was a chorus of
frogs among the lily pads, an owl hooted wistfully in the forest, and
they heard an angry snort from the underbrush, followed by a trampling
retreat.

"I fancy if we had lingered quietly in that passage we should have seen
deer drinking from that patch of sward over there," said Clavering.
"But I was not thinking of deer."

"What were you thinking of?"

"Why--you--in a way, I suppose. If I was thinking at all. I was
merely filled with a vast content. God! I have found more than I ever
dreamed any man could imagine he wanted. Vastly more than any man's
deserts. It is an astonishing thing for a man to be able to say."

Mary sat up suddenly. "Be careful. A little superstition is a good
thing to keep in one's bag of precautions."

"I feel good enough to disdain it. Of course I may be struck by
lightning tomorrow, or the car may turn turtle when we go down to be
married, but I refuse to contemplate anything of the sort. I feel as
arrogant as that moon up there, who may have all the gods inside him,
and do not mind proclaiming aloud that earth is heaven."

"Well--it is." She was not superstitious herself, but she was suddenly
invaded by a sinister inexplicable fear, and smiled the more brightly
to conceal it. But she lowered her eyelids and glanced hastily about
her, wondering if an enemy could be hiding in those dark woods. She
was not conscious of possessing enemies venomous enough to assassinate
her, but she knew little of Clavering's life after all, and he was the
sort of man who must inspire hate as well as love . . . danger
assuredly was lurking somewhere . . . it seemed to wash against her
brain, carrying its message. . . . But there were no wild beasts in
the Adirondacks, nor even reptiles. . . . Nor a sound. The owl had
given up his attempt to entice his lady out for a rendezvous and the
frogs had paused for breath. There was not the faintest rustle in the
forest except those eternally whispering leaves and the faint surging
tide in the tree-tops. That ugly invading fe