ves had come out
upon the brown branches, and through them she could see the blue sky,
deep as turquoise, without a single cloud. It seemed that she had always
been happy, but had never known it until this new light shone upon her,
flooding with divine radiance every darkened recess of her soul.

She went to the hollow tree, took out the wooden box, and unwound the
scarlet ribbon. Yesterday, little dreaming of the portent that for once
accompanied the signal, she had tied it in its accustomed place, and
gone back, calmly to wait. The school bell echoed through the valley as
she stood there, her eyes laughing, but her mouth very grave. She had
taken two or three steps toward the birches when an unwonted shyness
possessed her, and she hurried back.

"I can't," she said to herself. "Oh, I can't--to-day!"

So she restored it to its place, wondering, as she did so, why love
should make such mysterious changes in the common things of every day.
Won and awakened though she was, her womanhood imperatively demanded
now that she must be sought and never seek, that she must not even
beckon him to her, and that she must wait, according to her destiny, as
women have waited since the world began.

[Sidenote: Waiting]

Yet it was part of the beautiful magic of the day that presently he
should come to her, unsummoned save by her longing and his own desire.

"Where is the ribbon?" he inquired, reproachfully, when he came within
speaking distance.

"Where it belongs," she answered, with a flush.

"Didn't you want me to come?"

"Of course."

"Then why didn't you hang it up?"

"Just because I wanted you to come."

Alden laughed at her feminine inconsistency, as he took her face between
his hands and kissed her, half-shyly still. "Did you sleep last night?"
he asked.

"Yes, but I had a horrible dream. I was glad to wake up this morning."

"I didn't sleep, so all my dreams were wakeful ones. You're not sorry,
are you, Rosemary?"

"No, indeed! How could I ever be sorry?"

"You never shall be, if I can help it. I want to be good to you, dear.
If I'm ever otherwise, you'll tell me so, won't you?"

[Sidenote: Always]

"Perhaps--I won't promise."

"Why not?"

"Because, even if you weren't good to me, I'd know you never meant it."
Rosemary's eyes were grave and sweet; eloquent, as they were, of her
perfect trust in him.

He laughed again. "I'd be a brute not to be good to you, whether I meant
it or not."

"That sound