been already done to
them.

They went down the stairs together and passed through the drawing-room
into the pleasure grounds. The once neglected lawns had already been
mown and rolled, clipped and trimmed, until they spread before the eye
huge measures of green velvet; even the beds girdling and adorning them
were brilliant with flowers.

"Kedgers!" said Betty, waving her hand. "In my ignorance I thought we
must wait for blossoms until next year; but it appears that wonders can
be brought all ready to bloom for one from nursery gardens, and can be
made to grow with care--and daring--and passionate affection. I
have seen Kedgers turn pale with anguish as he hung over a bed of
transplanted things which seemed to droop too long. They droop just at
first, you know, and then they slowly lift their heads, slowly, as if
to listen to a Voice calling--calling. Once I sat for quite a long time
before a rose, watching it. When I saw it BEGIN to listen, I felt a
little trembling pass over my body. I seemed to be so strangely near to
such a strange thing. It was Life--Life coming back--in answer to what
we cannot hear."

She had begun lightly, and then her voice had changed. It was very
quiet at the end of her speaking. Mount Dunstan simply repeated her last
words.

"To what we cannot hear."

"One feels it so much in a garden," she said. "I have never lived in a
garden of my own. This is not mine, but I have been living in it--with
Kedgers. One is so close to Life in it--the stirring in the brown earth,
the piercing through of green spears, that breaking of buds and pouring
forth of scent! Why shouldn't one tremble, if one thinks? I have stood
in a potting shed and watched Kedgers fill a shallow box with damp rich
mould and scatter over it a thin layer of infinitesimal seeds; then he
moistens them and carries them reverently to his altars in a greenhouse.
The ledges in Kedgers' green-houses are altars. I think he offers
prayers before them. Why not? I should. And when one comes to see them,
the moist seeds are swelled to fulness, and when one comes again they
are bursting. And the next time, tiny green things are curling outward.
And, at last, there is a fairy forest of tiniest pale green stems and
leaves. And one is standing close to the Secret of the World! And why
should not one prostrate one's self, breathing softly--and touching
one's awed forehead to the earth?"

Mount Dunstan turned and looked at her--a pause in his