stile and kiss like village maid and lad--and--love it,
John! How many rustic lovers have stood here before us, how many will
come after us, and yet I doubt if any may know a joy so deep. Think
you paradise may compare with this? Art happy, John?"

"Beloved," he answered, "I who once sought death boldly as a friend now
do fear it like a very craven----"

"Ah no!" she cried, "speak not of death at such an hour, my Jack."

"Betty," said he, "O Betty, thou art my happiness, my hope, my very
life. I had thought to go wifeless, childless and solitary all my days
in my blindness and was content. But heaven sent thee to teach me the
very joy and wonder of life, to--to----"

"To go beside thee henceforth, John, my hand in thine, learning each
day to love thee a little more, to cherish and care for thee, men are
such children and thou in some things a very babe. And belike to
quarrel with thee, John--a little----" At this he laughed happily and
they were silent awhile.

"See John, the moon is gone at last! How dark it grows, 'tis the dawn
hour methinks and some do call it the death hour. But with these dear
arms about me I---shouldn't fear so--very much."

Slowly, slowly upon the dark was a gleam that grew and grew, an ever
waxing brightness filling the world about them.

"Look!" she whispered, "look! O John, 'tis the dawn at last, 'tis the
dayspring and hath found me here upon thy breast!"

Thus, standing by that weatherbeaten stile that had known so many
lovers before them, they watched day's majestic advent; a flush that
deepened to rose, to scarlet, amber and flaming gold. And presently
upon the brooding stillness was the drowsy call of a blackbird
uncertain as yet and hoarse with sleep, a note that died away only to
come again, sweeter, louder, until the feathered tribe, aroused by this
early herald, awoke in turn and filled the golden dawn with an ecstasy
of rejoicing.

Then my lady sighed and stirred:

"O John," said she, "'tis a good, sweet world! And this hath been a
night shall be for us a fragrant memory, methinks. But now must I
leave thee--take me home, my John."

So he brought her to the rustic gate that opened upon the lane and
setting it wide, stooped to kiss her lips, her eyes, her fragrant hair
and watched her flit away among the sleeping roses.

When she had gone he closed the door and trod a path gay with dewy
gems; and hearkening to the joyous carolling of the birds it seemed
thei