ce--Oh,
God, I am not old enough yet to do it!"

She read another letter, one of later date. "Judith, I promised. I
cannot tell you. But he is well, oh, believe that! and believe, too,
that he is doing his work. He is not the kind to rest from work, he must
work. And slowly, slowly that brings salvation. You are a noble woman.
Be noble still--and wait awhile--and wait awhile! It _will_ come right.
Miriam is better. The woods about Three Oaks are gorgeous."

She read another. "Child, he is not at Three Oaks. Now you must
rest--rest and wait."

Judith put the letters in the rosewood box. She arose, locked her hands
behind her head and walked softly up and down the room. "Rest--rest and
wait. Patience--quietude--tranquillity--strength--fortitude--endurance.
--Rest--patience--calm quietude--"

It worked but partially. Presently, when she lay down it was to lie
still enough, but sleepless. Late in the night she slept, but it was to
dream again, much as she had dreamed during the Seven Days, great and
tragic visions. Dawn waked her. She lay, staring at the white ceiling;
then she arose. It was not cold. The earth lay still at this season, yet
wrapped and warmed and softened with the memories of summer. Judith
looked out of the window. There was a glow in the eastern sky, the trees
were motionless, the brown path over the hills showed like a beckoning
finger. She dressed, put a cloak about her, went softly downstairs and
left the house.

The path across the meadow, through the wood, up the lone tree hill--she
would see the sunrise, she would get above the world. She walked
quickly, lightly, through the dank stillness. There was mist in the
meadow, above the little stream. The wood was shadowy; mist, like
ghosts, between the trees. She passed through it and came out on the
bare hillside, rising dome-like to the one tree with the bench around
it. The eastern sky was burning gold. Judith stood still. There was a
man seated upon the bench, on the side that overlooked Greenwood. He sat
with his head buried in his hands. She could not yet tell, but she
thought he was in uniform.

With the thought she moved onward. She never remembered afterwards,
whether she recognized him then, or whether she thought, "A soldier
sleeping through the night up here! Why did he not come to the house?"
She made no noise on the bare, moist earth of the path. She was within
thirty feet of the bench when Cleave lifted his head from his hands,
rose