ll of a sudden, that there was something
more--everything more. He made that discovery on a calm autumn night,
when fire had blackened all the foothills and still ran in dancing red
ribbons over their distant crests. That night a great thing--two great
things--came into his life. First was something he gave. Not very much,
indeed, but typical of all it might be. It was service. And next was
something he received, something so wonderful he did not understand it
then, and does not understand it yet. It was trust. These were things he
had been leaving largely out of his life, and suddenly he discovered how
empty it was. I think there is one word for both these things, and, it
may be, for even more. You know?"

"I know," she said, and her voice was scarcely audible.

"But it is YOUR fortune I am to read," he corrected himself. "It has
been your fortune to open that new world to me. That can never be
undone--those gates can never be closed--no matter where the paths may
lead. Those two paths go down to the future--as all paths must--even
as this road leads away through the valley to the sunset. Zen--if only,
like this road, they could run side by side to the sunset--Oh! Zen, if
they could?"

"I know," she said, and as she raised her face he saw that her eyes were
wet. "I know--if only they could!"

There was a little sob in her voice, and in her beauty and distress
she was altogether irresistible. He reached out his arms and would have
taken her in them, but she thrust her hands in his and held herself
back. She turned the diamond deliberately to his eyes. She could feel
his grip relax and apparently grow suddenly cold. He stood speechless,
like one dazed--benumbed.

"You see, I should not have let you talk--it is my fault," she said,
speaking hurriedly. "I should not have let you talk. Please do not think
I am shallow; that I let you suffer to gratify my vanity." Her eyes
found his again. "If I had not believed every word you said--if I had
not liked every word you said--if I had not--HOPED--every word you said,
I would not have listened.... But you see how it is."

He was silent for so long that she thought he was not going to answer
her at all. When he spoke it was in a dry, parched voice.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I should not have presumed--"

"I know, I know. If only--"

Then he looked straight at her and talked out.

"You liked me enough to let me speak as I did. I opened my heart to
you. I ask no su