and they finished
the last verse triumphantly; then they looked at each other and laughed.

"I used to sing it in Sunday-school," Bettina explained.

"So did I," and these simple sentences, in their uplifted mood, seemed
fraught with great meaning.

They were beyond the harbor now. Ahead of them and to the right was the
open sea; to the left, the town, with its church steeples like pin
points beneath them, its most imposing buildings no bigger than
mushrooms.

"Are we so very high?"

"Not so high, perhaps, as it seems to you. It is perfectly safe."

On and on they went, leaving the lighthouse behind them, leaving behind
them the harbor and the town, passing, finally, the great forest through
which they had raced in the rain.

Then Justin had asked, "Do you remember?"

And Bettina had answered, "Shall I ever forget?"

The gulls circled below them, uttering mewing cries. It was as if they
protested against the intrusion of this bird man and bird woman in a
realm which had belonged to winged things since the world began.

They came presently to a long and lonely stretch of beach, above which
Justin sailed, low, and, relaxing his vigilance for the first time, he
began his eager wooing--all fire and rapture.

And Bettina trembled--and listened.

It seemed to her that throughout her life she had waited to hear that
which Justin was saying to her now.

"You were made for me--dear. In my dreams there has always been a girl
like you--little and white and helpless--but vivid, too, in flashes.
When I saw you for the first time in that dark room on that rainy day I
knew that you were--mine. I know I'm not good enough for you. I know
that if you should ever marry me I should thank God on my knees every
day of my life. But it isn't conceit which makes me believe that you and
I have been coming toward each other always. I don't know why you gave
me back the silver ring. At this moment I don't care--although the other
night my world went to pieces--but just now, what you said,--and the
way you said it, that you would fly with me forever,--made me feel that
all the things I had hoped were true----"

Bettina felt as if their souls were bared. What conventional thing could
she say which would hide her joy? Her eyes would tell him though her
lips might not.

As if he read her thoughts he bent down to her. "Look at me," he urged,
and again, "My dear one--is it, then, really--true?"

* * * *