ince I can remember," said Garth. "And the door between was
always open. After my mother's death, I kept it locked. But the night
before my birthday, I used to open it; and when I woke early and saw it
ajar, I would spring up, and go quickly in; and it seemed as if her
dear presence was there to greet me, just on that one morning. But I
had to go quickly, and immediately I wakened; just as you must go out
early to catch the rosy glow of sunrise on the fleeting clouds; or to
see the gossamer webs on the gorse, outlined in diamonds, by the
sparkling summer dew. But, somehow, Margery found out about it; and the
third year there was a sheet of writing-paper firmly stuck to the
pincushion by a large black-headed pin, saying, in Margery's careful
caligraphy: 'Many happy returns of the day, Master Garthie.' It was
very touching, because it was meant to be so comforting and tactful.
But it destroyed the illusion! Since then the door has been kept
closed."

Another long sweet silence. Two nightingales, in distant trees, sang
alternately; answering one another in liquid streams of melody.

Again Garth turned the wedding ring; then spoke, with his lips against
it.

"You said Margery had 'gone through.' Is it open to-night?" he asked.

Jane clasped both hands behind his head--strong, capable hands, though
now they trembled a little--and pressed his face against her, as she
had done on the terrace at Shenstone, three years before.

"Yes, my own boy," she said; "it is."

"Jane! Oh, Jane--" He released himself from the pressure of those
restraining hands, and lifted his adoring face to hers.

Then, suddenly, Jane broke down. "Ah, darling," she said, "take me away
from this horrible white moonlight! I cannot bear it. It reminds me of
Shenstone. It reminds me of the wrong I did you. It seems a separating
thing between you and me--this cruel brightness which you cannot share."

Her tears fell on his upturned fate.

Then Garth sprang to his feet. The sense of manhood and mastery; the
right of control, the joy of possession, arose within him. Even in his
blindness, he was the stronger. Even in his helplessness, for the great
essentials, Jane must lean on him. He raised her gently, put his arms
about her, and stood there, glorified by his great love.

"Hush, sweetest wife," he said. "Neither light nor darkness can
separate between you and me: This quiet moonlight cannot take you from
me; but in the still, sweet darkness you will