was answered delicately, a song not of
the flesh but of the spirit, by the bird from across the valley.

Katherine Calmady stood solitary, watching, listening, her hands folded
rather high on her bosom. The caressing suavity of the summer night
enfolded her. And remembrance came to her of another night, nearly
four-and-thirty years ago, when, standing in this same spot, she,
young, untried, ambitious of unlimited delight, had felt the first
mysterious pangs of motherhood, and told her husband of that new,
unseen life which was at once his and her own. And of yet another
night, when, after long experience of sorrow, solitude, and revolt, her
husband had come to her once again--but come even as the bird's song
came from across the valley, etherealised, spiritualised, the same yet
endowed with qualities of unearthly beauty--and how that strange and
exquisite communion with the dead had fortified her to endure an
anguish even greater than any she had yet known.--She had prayed that
night that she might behold the face of her well-beloved, and her
prayer had been granted. She had prayed that, without reservation, she
might be absorbed by, and conformed to, the Divine Will. And that
prayer had, as she humbly trusted, been in great measure granted also.
But then the Divine Will had proved so very merciful, the Divine
Intention so wholly beneficent, there was small credit in being
conformed to either!--Katherine bowed her head in thanksgiving. The
goodness of the Almighty towards her had been abundant beyond asking or
fondest hope.

She was aroused from her gracious meditation by the sound of
footsteps--measured, a little weary perhaps--approaching her. She
looked up to see Julius March. And a point of gentle anxiety pricked
Katherine. For it occurred to her that Julius had failed somewhat in
health and energy of late. She reproached herself lest, in the interest
of watching those vigorous, young lives so dear to her, participating
in their schemes, basking in the sunshine of their love, she had
neglected Julius and failed to care for his comfort as she might. To
those that have shall be given even of sympathy, even of strength. In
that there is an ironical as well as an equitable truth; and she was to
blame perhaps in the ironical application of it. It followed therefore,
that she greeted him now with a quickening both of solicitude and of
affection.

"Come and pace, dear Julius, come and pace," she said, "as in times
past