e. Already he was
close to the spot where they had stood once before, and with all the
subtle sweetness of those memories stealing in upon him he had turned
aside to look through the tree tops down into the sea, as they had done
together. Thus he was standing when he heard light firm footsteps close
at hand, and a little surprised cry which rang in his ears like music,
for it was her voice.

They stood face to face, their hands clasped. In that first moment of
tremulous joy neither of them spoke. Each was struggling for
realization, for even an inward expression of the ecstasy of this
meeting. For them there was a new glory in the sunny heavens, a new
beauty in the glistening sea and the softly waving pine trees, even in
the air they breathed. The intensity of this joy filled their hearts,
their fancy, their imagination. Everything was crowned with a soft
golden light; new springs of feeling leaped up within them, bringing
glowing revelations of such delight as mocked expression. For them only
at that moment the sun shone, and the summer winds whispered in the
trees, and the birds sang. The world was theirs, or rather a new one of
their own creation. The past and the future emptied their joys into the
overflowing bowl of the present. Life stood still for them. There was no
horizon, no background. Oh, it is a great thing, the greatest thing upon
this earth, to love and be loved!

Each dreaded speech. It seemed as though a single word must drag them
down from a new heaven to an old earth. Yet those murmured passionate
words of his, as he drew her softly into his arms, and her head sank
upon his shoulder--they were scarcely words. And then again there was
silence.

It lasted long. It seemed to him that it might have lasted forever. But
the sun went down behind the hills, and a dusky twilight stole down upon
the earth. Then she spoke.

"My love, my love! you must listen to me. I have a confession to make."

"A confession? You!" he echoed.

Her cheeks burned with a fire which seemed to her like the fire of
shame. Her tongue seemed hung with sudden weights. She had doubted him.
The hideousness of it oppressed her like a nightmare; yet her voice did
not falter.

"You remember those dying words of Rachel Kynaston?"

"I have never forgotten them," he answered simply.

"They laid a charge upon me. I told myself that it was a sacred charge.
Listen, my love--listen, and hate me! I have been to detectives. I paid
them mo