the
later season long-plumed yellow grasses. Here at sunrise the young men
washed their limbs, and here since her return home English Rose loved to
walk by night. She had often spoken of the little happy stream to Evan
in Portugal, and when he came to Beckley Court, she arranged that
he should sleep in a bed-room overlooking it. The view was sweet and
pleasant to him, for all the babbling of the water was of Rose, and
winding in and out, to East, to North, it wound to embowered hopes in
the lover's mind, to tender dreams; and often at dawn, when dressing,
his restless heart embarked on it, and sailed into havens, the phantom
joys of which coloured his life for him all the day. But most he loved
to look across it when the light fell. The palest solitary gleam along
its course spoke to him rich promise. The faint blue beam of a star
chained all his longings, charmed his sorrows to sleep. Rose like a
fairy had breathed her spirit here, and it was a delight to the silly
luxurious youth to lie down, and fix some image of a flower bending to
the stream on his brain, and in the cradle of fancies that grew round
it, slide down the tide of sleep.

From the image of a flower bending to the stream, like his own soul to
the bosom of Rose, Evan built sweet fables. It was she that exalted him,
that led him through glittering chapters of adventure. In his dream
of deeds achieved for her sake, you may be sure the young man behaved
worthily, though he was modest when she praised him, and his limbs
trembled when the land whispered of his great reward to come. The longer
he stayed at Beckley the more he lived in this world within world, and
if now and then the harsh outer life smote him, a look or a word from
Rose encompassed him again, and he became sensible only of a distant
pain.

At first his hope sprang wildly to possess her, to believe, that after
he had done deeds that would have sent ordinary men in the condition of
shattered hulks to the hospital, she might be his. Then blow upon blow
was struck, and he prayed to be near her till he died: no more. Then
she, herself, struck him to the ground, and sitting in his chamber,
sick and weary, on the evening of his mishap, Evan's sole desire was to
obtain the handkerchief he had risked his neck for. To have that, and
hold it to his heart, and feel it as a part of her, seemed much.

Over a length of the stream the red round harvest-moon was rising,
and the weakened youth was this evenin