with the stillness and the
sunshine. A woman lay dead upon the floor, her outstretched hand
clenched upon the foot of a cradle. I entered the room, and, looking
within the cradle, found that the babe had not been spared. Taking up
the little waxen body with the blood upon its innocent breast, I laid
it within the mother's arms, and went my way over the sunny doorstep and
the earth that had been made ready for planting. A white butterfly--the
first of the year--fluttered before me; then rose through a mist of
green and passed from my sight.

The sun climbed higher into the deep blue sky. Save where grew pines or
cedars there were no shadowy places in the forest. The slight green of
uncurling leaves, the airy scarlet of the maples, the bare branches of
the tardier trees, opposed no barrier to the sunlight. It streamed into
the world below the treetops, and lay warm upon the dead leaves and the
green moss and the fragile wild flowers. There was a noise of birds,
and a fox barked. All was lightness, gayety, and warmth; the sap was
running, the heyday of the spring at hand. Ah! to be riding with her,
to be going home through the fairy forest, the sunshine, and the
singing!... The happy miles to Weyanoke, the smell of the sassafras in
its woods, the house all lit and trimmed. The fire kindled, the wine
upon the table... Diccon's welcoming face, and his hand upon Black
Lamoral's bridle; the minister, too, maybe, with his great heart and his
kindly eyes; her hand in mine, her head upon my breast--

The vision faded. Never, never, never for me a home-coming such as that,
so deep, so dear, so sweet. The men who were my friends, the woman whom
I loved, had gone into a far country. This world was not their home.
They had crossed the threshold while I lagged behind. The door was shut,
and without were the night and I.

With the fading of the vision came a sudden consciousness of a presence
in the forest other than my own. I turned sharply, and saw an Indian
walking with me, step for step, but with a space between us of earth and
brown tree trunks and drooping branches. For a moment I thought that
he was a shadow, not substance; then I stood still, waiting for him to
speak or to draw nearer. At the first glimpse of the bronze figure I had
touched my sword, but when I saw who it was I let my hand fall. He too
paused, but he did not offer to speak. With his hand upon a great bow,
he waited, motionless in the sunlight. A minute or mor