nd. By his mysterious alchemy,
he has crystallised the doubtful waters, which once were in the cup of
Life and Love, into a jewel which has no flaw. He has kept the child
forever a child, caught the maiden at the noon of her beauty to
enshrine her thus for always in the heart that loved her most; made the
true and loving comrade a comrade always, though on the highways of the
vast Unknown.

It is seen now that the road has many windings and that, unconsciously,
the wayfarer has turned back. Eagerly the trembling hands reach
forward to take the white poppies, and the tired eyes close as though
the silken petals had already fluttered downward on the lids, for,
radiant past all believing, the Grey Angel still holds the Best Beloved
by the hand, and the roads that long ago had forked in darkness, have
come together, in more than mortal dawn, at the selfsame place.

Upon the beauty of the crystalline March morning, the memory of the
Winter sorrow still lay. The bare, brown earth was not wholly hidden
by the mantle of sleet and snow, yet there was some intangible Easter
close at hand. Miss Evelina felt it, stricken though she was.

From a distant thicket came a robin's cheery call, a glimmer of blue
wings flashed across the desolate garden, a south wind stirred the
bending, icy branches to a tinkling music, and she knew that Spring had
come to all but her.

Some indefinite impulse sent her outdoors. Closely veiled, she started
off down the road, looking neither to the right nor the left. Miss
Hitty saw her pass, but graciously forbore to call to her; Araminta
looked up enquiringly from her sewing, but the question died on her
lips.

Down through the village she went, across the tracks, and up to the
river road. It had been a favourite walk of hers in her girlhood.
Then she had gone with a quick, light step; now she went slowly, like
one grown old.

Yet, all unconsciously, life was quickening in her pulses; the old
magic of Spring was stirring in her, too. Dark and deep, the waters of
the river rolled dreamily by, waiting for the impulse which should send
the shallows singing to the sea, and stir the depths to a low,
murmurous symphony.

Upon the left, as she walked, the road was bordered with elms and
maples, stretching far back to the hills. The woods were full of
unsuspected ravines and hollows, queer winding paths, great rocks, and
tiny streams. The children had called it the enchanted forest, and
play