es's refrain. 'Eh?'

Christian assented.

'One more to my taste does not tread shoe-leather. Eh?'

With a singular expression Christian gave a 'No' of sufficient emphasis.
He looked at Rhoda and grew red.

Rhoda and Christian went amidst the fig-tree and trained it up to the
eaves. Lois and Giles looked on from the porch; when they spoke, it was
low as the rustle of the boughs. 'Young Adam and Eve' slid to Christian's
ears. He looked at Giles; saw the fond, complacent smile and the shrewd
eye; saw his mother's face, grave, concerned, tender; glanced down at
Rhoda, and met her shy, happy eyes. He understood, and like lightning
shot the revelation that with body and soul he loved Diadyomene.

CHAPTER VII

He found her curved in a nest of sleep full in the sun. Her breath was
gentle as childhood's, and as guileless her face. Her head was regal, for
the hair dried crowned it in a dark coil wound and bound with wisps of
splendid pearls.

The young lover's passion resolved itself into prayer. As never before in
his life, with concentration and fervour he importuned his God for the
redemption of her lost soul. The shadow of his crest edged her shoulder;
a movement brought to the line of her cheek the shadow of his. At that,
prayer failed for an amorous instant; eclipse dipped across her brow;
sleep parted; she was looking at him.

'Ah, Grey Eyes!' she said, and smiled.

'Be gracious by one little word, Diadyomene. Why never yet will you call
me by my name?'

'Your name? No, 'tis an ill-made name. Put it away and bear another that
I will choose.'

'I could not. Yet what would you choose?'

'Diadyomenos, may be!' she said softly, smiling.

The honour of the consort name caught his breath.

'But I could not; not even for that could I lay aside the name I had in
baptism.'

'Baptism ever!' she frowned. 'Inadvertently did I utter Diadyomenos.
Asleep, I had dreamed--of you--enfranchised.'

From scorn to regret she modulated, and his blood sang to the dominant
close.

She strained to dislocate sleep, on her back-thrown head planting both
hands. Her fingers, with careless grip, encountered the pearls; they
sprang scattering, and her dark hair drifted down. With languid
indifference she loosened and fingered the length of soft splendours;
another lustrous morsel flew and skipped to the boy's feet. Covetous
longing fastened upon it, not for its rare beauty, its immense value. A
thing that had passed through