rough the open window came the faint odour which
the earth gives forth during rain--an odour of bursting leaves and
dew-covered flowers. On the lawn you could almost "have seen the grass
grow." And though the sky was dull and grey, still the whole air was so
full of summer, so rich in the promise of what the next day would be,
that you did not marvel to hear the birds singing as merrily as if
it had been sunshine. There was one thrush to which Olive had stood
listening for half-an-hour. He sat sheltered in the heart of the
great syringa bush. Though the rain kept dropping continually from its
flowers, he poured out a song so long and merry, that he even disturbed
his friends in the parlour--the happy silent three--mother, son, and the
son's betrothed.

Mrs. Gwynne, who sat in the far corner, put down her book--the best
Book, for Sunday and all other days--the only one she ever read now.
Harold, still feeble, lying back in his armchair by the window, listened
to the happy bird.

"Do you like to hear it, or shall I close the window?" said Olive,
coming towards him.

"Nay, it does me good; everything does me good now," he answered,
smiling. And then he lay a long time, quietly looking on the garden and
the misty view beyond. Olive sat, looking alone at him; watching him
in that deep peace, that satisfied content with which our eyes drink in
every lineament beloved, when, all sorrow past, the fulness of love has
come. No need had she to seek his, as though asking restlessly, "Do you
love me?" In her own love's completeness she desired no demonstration of
his. To her it was perfect joy only to sit near him and to look at his
face; the face which, whether seen or remembered, shone distinct from
every other face in the wide world; and had done so from the first
moment when it met her sight. Very calm and beautiful it was now; so
beautiful, that even his mother turned round and looked at him for a
moment with dimmed eyes.

"You are sure you feel quite well to-day? I mean as well as usual. You
are not sitting up too long, or wearying yourself too much?"

"Oh, no, mother! I think I could even exert myself more; but there is
such sweetness in this dreamy life. I am so happy! It will be almost a
pain to go back to the troublesome world again."

"Do not say so, my son. Indeed, we must have you quite well soon--the
sooner the better--and then you will return to all your old duties. When
I sat in church this morning, I was coun