rolling up her sleeves.

She holds out her arms to John, first one and then the other, asking him
sweetly if he minds doing it for her. John is very slow and clumsy, but
Anne stands very patient. Inch by inch he peels the black sleeve from
the white round arm. Hundreds of times must he have seen those fair
arms, bare to the shoulder, sparkling with jewels; but never before has
he seen their wondrous beauty. He longs to clasp them round his neck,
yet is fearful lest his trembling fingers touching them as he performs
his tantalising task may offend her. Anne thanks him, and apologises for
having given him so much trouble, and he murmurs some meaningless reply,
and stands foolishly silent, watching her.

Anne seems to find one hand sufficient for her cake-making, for the other
rests idly on the table--very near to one of John's, as she would see
were not her eyes so intent upon her work. How the impulse came to him,
where he--grave, sober, business-man John--learnt such story-book ways
can never be known; but in one instant he is down on both knees,
smothering the floury hand with kisses, and the next moment Anne's arms
are round his neck and her lips against his, and the barrier between them
is swept away, and the deep waters of their love rush together.

With that kiss they enter a new life whereinto one may not follow them.
One thinks it must have been a life made strangely beautiful by
self-forgetfulness, strangely sweet by mutual devotion--a life too ideal,
perhaps, to have remained for long undimmed by the mists of earth.

They who remember them at that time speak of them in hushed tones, as one
speaks of visions. It would almost seem as though from their faces in
those days there shone a radiance, as though in their voices dwelt a
tenderness beyond the tenderness of man.

They seem never to rest, never to weary. Day and night, through that
little stricken world, they come and go, bearing healing and peace, till
at last the plague, like some gorged beast of prey, slinks slowly back
towards its lair, and men raise their heads and breathe.

One afternoon, returning from a somewhat longer round than usual, John
feels a weariness creeping into his limbs, and quickens his step, eager
to reach home and rest. Anne, who has been up all the previous night, is
asleep, and not wishing to disturb her, he goes into the dining-room and
sits down in the easy chair before the fire. The room strikes cold. He
stirs the