ilvery, white, serene. Garth and Jane had
stepped out into the brightness; and, finding the night so warm and
still, and the nightingales filling the woods and hills with
soft-throated music, they moved their usual fireside chairs close to
the parapet, and sat there in restful comfort, listening to the sweet
sounds of the quiet night.

The solitude was so perfect; the restfulness so complete. Garth had
removed the cushion seat from his chair, and placed it on the gravel;
and sat at his wife's feet leaning against her knees. She stroked his
hair and brow softly, as they talked; and every now and then he put up
his hand, drew hers to his lips, and kissed the ring he had never seen.

Long tender silences fell between them. Now that they were at last
alone, thoughts too deep, joys too sacred for words, trembled about
them; and silence seemed to express more than speech. Only, Garth could
not bear Jane to be for a moment out of reach of his hand. What to
another would have been: "I cannot let her out of my sight," was, to
him, "I cannot let her be beyond my touch." And Jane fully understood
this; and let him feel her every moment within reach. And the bliss of
this was hers as well as his; for sometimes it had seemed to her as if
the hunger in her heart, caused by those long weeks of waiting, when
her arms ached for him, and yet she dared not even touch his hand,
would never be appeased.

"Sweet, sweet, sweet--thrill," sang a nightingale in the wood. And
Garth whistled an exact imitation.

"Oh, darling," said Jane, "that reminds me; there is something I do so
want you to sing to me. I don't know what it is; but I think you will
remember. It was on that Monday evening, after I had seen the pictures,
and Nurse Rosemary had described them to you. Both our poor hearts were
on the rack; and I went up early in order to begin my letter of
confession; but you told Simpson not to come for you until eleven.
While I was writing in the room above, I could hear you playing in the
library. You played many things I knew--music we had done together,
long ago. And then a theme I had never heard crept in, and caught my
ear at once, because it was quite new to me, and so marvellously sweet.
I put down my pen and listened. You played it several times, with
slight variations, as if trying to recall it. And then, to my joy, you
began to sing. I crossed the room; softly opened my window, and leaned
out. I could hear some of the words; but not