esidder. Besides, I
remembered that Naomi Penryn was probably a guest at Pennington. Then I
began to ask myself why she should be with the Tresidders, and what
relationship she bore to them. For I did not know her at all. The name
of Penryn was well known in the county, but I did not know to what
branch of the family she belonged. What connection had she with Nick
Tresidder? Why should he bring her to see me that day? And what were the
Tresidders' plans concerning her?

It came to me suddenly. She was intended for Nick Tresidder. I
remembered the conversation I had heard between Richard Tresidder and
his mother, and I thought I understood its meaning. Then my heart gave a
wild leap, while hot blood rushed madly into my head, for I knew then
that a new life had entered mine. I felt that I loved Naomi Penryn with
a great love, and that this love would never leave me while my heart
continued to beat. For I had not been given to walking out with maidens;
my life had been filled with other things, and so the love I felt was
new to me--it filled my whole life, and every breath I drew increased
it.

For a long time I lay and dreamed of my love; I did not think of the way
in which she must have regarded me, neither did I for a long while
remember my degradation. I lived in happy forgetfulness of everything,
save the love-joy that filled my life. The birds fluttered hither and
thither on the twigs which grew so thickly around, and finally settled
to rest, while the insects ceased to hum as the night descended, but I
scarcely heeded them. I lay among the ferns, my head pillowed on a
moss-covered stone, and thought of Naomi Penryn. I did not care who she
was; I did not think. Why should I? For I believe that when God sends
love into our hearts, it does not matter as to name and lineage. I had
seen the flash of her eyes, and remembered the tear drops that
glistened. I had seen the beauteous face, so full of tenderness and
truth; I had heard her voice, sweeter than the sighing of the night wind
as it played among the wild flowers, and I cared for nothing else. Hour
after hour passed away, the woods became darker and darker, but I could
still see Naomi's face. Then the eastern sky became streaked with golden
light, and the birds sang to welcome the advent of day, but their songs
were not so sweet as the memory of Naomi's voice. For my love was the
gift of God, and I thought then only of what was beautiful and true.

But with the d