t hills, graceful and verdant, a stretch of water lying dark under
the clouded sky, and the mountain gray and watchful in the distance. It
was then, in the chill of a January rain, on an oak-clad hill of a
western spot, that he recognised the dear features of the Mother, knew
her his as hers he was, and loved her with passion. The sea is vast and
wondrous, but it is alien. It holds you apart; it is not of you. But the
gentle earth with her undulating form and the growing life in her lap,
soothes with wordless harmonies. It was then that he forgave the fate
which deformed him. A twisted oak, that is all--no less a tree and no
less beautiful in the landscape! And it was sufficient to live. In the
bosom of so much beauty sufficient also to die. As he stood, thinking it
out, feeling the wonder and the glory, at times sorry for those who can
see no longer the slanting sheets of rain and the grass at the feet, at
times feeling that since this is good, in some impalpable way oblivion
to all this may be also good, as he stood there, flushed with the
climbing and sad with great joy, the thought came: With whom? It cannot
be lived alone. With whom? He turned at the touch of an arm at his
shoulder to meet the smile and the look and the quick breath of her who
had sent herself his Eve.

In the dawn stealing over the world of London, Earl told the story, and
there and then we saw it all--the hill in the heart of the hills, the
reconciled boy who had climbed its brow, the rain-drenched woman
hurrying to overtake him, with the gift of all of herself in her eyes.
We looked neither at Barbara nor at Earl. Possessed of the secret, we
spoke a few words and left. Our host had divulged what the anniversary
sought to celebrate. We understood and were glad.

Good night, lad. Would you could have shared our heyday at the dawning!

DANE.

XIV

FROM HERBERT WACE TO DANE KEMPTON

THE RIDGE,
BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA.
February 31, 19--.

Love is a something that begins in sensation and ends in sentiment.
Thanks to beautiful and permissible hyperbole, you have begun with
sensation in your description of love, and have ended with sentiment.
You have told me about love, in terms of love, which is a vain
performance and unscientific. Now let me make you a definition. _Love is
a disorder of mind and body, and is produced by passion under the
stimulus of imagination._

Love is a phase of the operation of the function of reproduction, and i