as though his soul were enlarged and revived by a force which was his
own all the time, an unclaimed, unperceived part of himself.

He said something of this to Maud, speaking of the happiness that she
had brought him. She said, "Ah, you can't expect me to realise that! I
feel as though you were giving everything and receiving nothing, as if
I were one more of the duties you had adopted. Of course, I hope that I
may be of some use, some time; but I feel at present as if you had been
striding on your way somewhere, and had turned aside to comfort and
help a little child by the roadside who had lost his way!"

"Oh," said Howard, "it's not that; it isn't only that you are the joy
and light of my life; it is as if something very far away and powerful
had come nearer to both of us, and had lifted us on its wings--what if
it were God?"

"Yes," said Maud musingly, "I think it is that!"

XXVI

LOVE IS ENOUGH

The days slipped past, one by one, with an incredible swiftness. For
the first time in his life Howard experienced the extraordinary
sensation of having nothing to do, no plans ahead, nothing but the
delight of the hour to taste. One day he said to Maud, "It seems almost
wicked to be so deliciously idle--some day I suppose we must make some
plans. But I do not seem ever to have lived before; and all that I ever
did and thought of seems as small and trivial as a little town seen
from the top of a tower--one can't conceive what the little creatures
are about in their tiny slits of streets and stuffy houses, crawling
about like beetles on some ridiculous business. The first thing I shall
do when I get back will be to burn my old book; such wretched, stodgy,
unenlightened stuff as it all is; like the fancies of a blind man about
the view of a landscape."

"Oh no, you mustn't do that," said Maud. "I have set my heart on your
writing a great book. You must do that--you must finish this one. I am
not going to keep you all to myself, like a man pushing about a
perambulator."

"Well, I will begin a new book," said Howard, "and steal an old title.
It shall be called Love is Enough."

On the last night before they left the cottage they talked long about
things past, present, and to come.

"Now," said Maud, "I am not going to be a gushing and sentimental young
bride any more. I am not sentimental, best-beloved! Do you believe
that? The time we have had here together has been the best and sweetest
time of my whol