ed, turning up to his a face so miserable
that he held her to him and vowed he would not go.

"My dearest, I only thought it was my duty, but if you will believe in
me, then let me stay in Wychford. After all, you are young. I am young.
Why, you won't be twenty till May Morning. And I sha'n't be
twenty-three till next August. Even if we wait three years to be
married, we shall be always together, and it won't seem so long."

So with her arm in his Pauline walked on through the lady-smocks,
thinking that never had any one a lover so wonderful as this long-legged
lover beside her.

Holy Week was at hand, and in the variety of functions that Monica
insisted her father should hold and her family attend Pauline saw little
of Guy, although he came very often to church, sitting as stiff and
awkward, she thought, as a brass knight on a tomb. However, it pleased
her greatly Guy should come to church, since it pleased her family. Yet
that was least of all the true reason, and Pauline used to send the
angels that came to visit her down through the church to visit Guy; her
simple faith glowed with richer illumination when she thought of him in
church, and while her mother and Monica tried to pull the Wychford choir
through the notation of Solesmes, and while Margaret knelt apart in
carved abstraction, Pauline prayed that Guy would all his life wish to
keep Holy Week with her like this.

Pauline hurried through a shower to church on Easter Morning, and shook
mingled tears and raindrops from herself when she saw that Guy was come
to Communion. So then that angel had traveled from her bedside last
night to hover over Guy and bid him wake early next morning, because it
was Easter Day. With never so holy a calm had she knelt in the jeweled
shadows of that chancel or retired from the altar to find her pew
imparadised. When the people came out of church the sun was shining, and
on the trees and on the tombstones a multitude of birds were singing.
Never had Pauline felt the spirit of Eastertide uplift her with such a
joy, joy for her lover beside her, joy for Summer close at hand, joy for
all the joy that Easter could bring to the soul.

There were Easter eggs at breakfast dyed yellow, blue, and purple. There
were new white trumpet daffodils for the Rector to gaze at. There was
satisfaction for Monica in having defeated for ever Anglican chants, and
for Margaret a letter from Richard, though, to be sure, she did not seem
so glad of th