mbs of friendly bees, and the shelters of many a timid
earth-born speck of life no bigger than a dewdrop, mysteriously small.
Radiant pin-points of existence have their palaces on the broad blades
of the grasses, and in the cellars at their roots works many a humble
little slave of the mighty elements.

Yes, the emperors and the ants of Nature's vast economy alike love to be
kind to the little graves.

CHAPTER XV

SILENCIEUX ALONE IN THE WOOD.

Beatrice's grief for Wonder was such as only a mother can know. She had
but one consolation,--the kind sad eyes of Antony. She had lost Wonder,
but Antony had come back again. Wonder was not so dead as Antony had
seemed a month ago.

When they had left Wonder and were back in the house which was now twice
desolate, Antony took Beatrice's hands very tenderly and said:--

"I have been very wrong all these months. For a shadow I have missed the
lovely reality of a little child--and for a shadow, my own faithful
wife, I have all this time done you cruel wrong. But my eyes are open
now, I have come out of the evil dream that bound me--and never shall I
enter it again. Let us go from here. Let us leave this valley and never
come back to it any more."

So it was arranged that they should winter far away, returning only to
the valley for a few short days in the spring, and then leave it for
ever. They had no heart now for more than just to fly from that haunted
place, and before night fell in the valley they were already far away.

In vain Silencieux listened for the sound of her lover's step in the
wood, for he had vowed that he would never look upon her face again.

CHAPTER XVI

THE FIRST TALK ON THE HILLS

Antony took Beatrice to the high hills where all the year long the sun
and the snow shine together. He was afraid of the sea, for the sea was
Silencieux's for ever. In its depths lay a magic harp which filled all
its waves with music--music lovely and accursed, the voice of
Silencieux. That he must never hear again. He would pile the hills
against his ears. Inland and upland, he and Beatrice should go, ever
closer to the kind heart of the land, ever nearer to the forgetful
silences of the sky, till huge walls of space were between them and that
harp of the sea. Nor in the whisper of leaves nor in the gloom of
forests should the thought of Silencieux beset them. The earth that
held least of her--to that earth they would go; the earth that rose
nearest to