bee?
Oh so white, oh so soft, oh so sweet is she!"

said the young lover again and again; and I, listening there in the dark
fragrant night, with the dew heavy upon me, felt glad that the old
simple-hearted love was not entirely gone from our tired metallic world.

It was late when we returned to the house. After reaching my room I
found that I had left my cloak in the arbor. It was a strong fabric: the
dew could not hurt it, but it could hurt my sketching materials and
various trifles in the wide inside pockets--_objets de luxe_ to me,
souvenirs of happy times, little artistic properties that I hang on the
walls of my poor studio when in the city. I went softly out into the
darkness again and sought the arbor: groping on the ground I found, not
the cloak, but--Felipa! She was crouched under the foliage, face
downward: she would not move or answer.

"What is the matter, child?" I said, but she would not speak. I tried to
draw her from her lair, but she tangled herself stubbornly still farther
among the thorny vines, and I could not move her. I touched her neck: it
was cold. Frightened, I ran back to the house for a candle.

"Go away," she said in a low hoarse voice when I flashed the light over
her. "I know all, and I am going to die. I have eaten the poison things
in your box, and just now a snake came on my neck and I let him. He has
bitten me, I suppose, and I am glad. Go away: I am going to die."

I looked around: there was my color-case rifled and empty, and the other
articles were scattered on the ground. "Good Heavens, child!" I cried,
"what have you eaten?"

"Enough," replied Felipa gloomily. "I knew they were poisons: you told
me so. And I let the snake stay."

By this time the household, aroused by my hurried exit with the candle,
came toward the arbor. The moment Edward appeared Felipa rolled herself
up like a hedgehog again and refused to speak. But the old grandmother
knelt down and drew the little crouching figure into her arms with
gentle tenderness, smoothing its hair and murmuring loving words in her
soft dialect.

"What is it?" said Edward; but even then his eyes were devouring
Christine, who stood in the dark, vine-wreathed doorway like a picture
in a frame. I explained.

Christine smiled softly. "Jealousy," she said in a low voice. "I am not
surprised." And of her own accord she gave back to Edward one of his
looks.

But at the first sound of her voice Felipa had started up: she too