ged her for a more perfect self-revealing.

"It is no longer as if we were separate, dearest; can't you remember and
feel that we are one?"

"In a way I do. It is very sweet."

"You say in a way. In what way?"

"Why, David?"

"I want your point of view."

"I see. We're not really one until we see from each other's hilltop, are
we?"

"No, and you never take me into the secret places of your heart and let
me look off from your own hilltop."

"Didn't I this very evening, David?"

"We stood on the same spot of earth and looked off on the same distance,
yet in my soul I know I did not see what you saw."

"Pictures come to me very suddenly and just float by, hardly understood
by myself. I didn't want you to see all I saw, David. I don't know how
comes it, but all the time, even in the midst of our great
gladness--right when it is most beautiful--far before me, right across
our way, is a place that is dim. It seems 'most like the shadows that
fall on the hills when those great piles of clouds pass through the sky,
when it is deep blue all around them and the sun shines everywhere
else."

"Your soul is still an undiscovered country to me, Cassandra."

"I should think you'd like that. Don't men love to go discovering? And
if you could get into the secret chambers, as you call them, you
wouldn't find much. Then you'd be sorry."

"Cassandra, what are you covering and holding back?"

"I don't know, David. It's like it was when I couldn't understand the
message of the 'Voices'! When it comes clear and strong, I'll tell you."

"Then there is something?"

"Yes."

With a little sigh, she rose and entered the cabin. He sat in silence as
she had left him, but soon she returned. Standing behind him in the
darkness, she put her interlaced fingers under his chin and drew his
face backward until she could see it, white in the dusk, beneath her
eyes.

"You have come back to explain?"

"If I can, David. It's hard for me to put in words what is so dim--what
I see. It's all just love for you, David. The love burns and blazes up
in me like the fire when it's fiercest on the hearth, when the day is
cold outside. You've seen it so. In the little books my father used to
read, there was a tale of a woman who had my name. She foretold the
sorrows to come. Perhaps she saw as I see things in the dim pictures,
only more clearly, and wisdom was given her to interpret them.

"Often and often I've felt that in me--that strange see