further side of the garden. Immediately outside the window lay the
path, deep in yew-needles, the ground-ivy beyond, and the wet lawn
glistening in the strange mystical light of morning.

She had no need to remember or consider. She knew every step and
process of the night. That was Laurie who lay opposite in a deep
sleep, his head on his arm, breathing deeply and regularly; and this
was the little smoking-room where she had seen the cigarettes laid
ready against his coming, last night.

There was still a log just alight on the hearth, she noticed. She got
out of her chair, softly and stiffly, for she felt intolerably languid
and tired. Besides, she must not disturb the boy. So she went down on
her knees, and, with infinite craft, picked out a coal or two from the
fender and dropped them neatly into the core of red-heat that still
smoldered. But a fragment of wood detached itself and fell with a
sharp sound; and she knew, even without turning her head, that the boy
had awakened. There was a faint inarticulate murmur, a rustle and a
long sigh.

Then she turned round.

Laurie was lying on his back, his arms clasped behind his head,
looking at her with a quiet meditative air. He appeared no more
astonished or perplexed than herself. He was a little white-looking
and tired in the light of dawn, but his eyes were bright and sure.

She rose from her knees again, still silent, and stood looking down on
him, and he looked back at her. There was no need of speech. It was
one of those moments in which one does not even say that there are no
words to use; one just regards the thing, like a stretch of open
country. It is contemplation, not comment, that is needed.

Her eyes wandered away presently, with the same tranquility, to the
brightening garden outside; and her slowly awakening mind, expanding
within, sent up a little scrap of quotation to be answered.

"While it was yet early ... there came to the sepulcher." How did it
run? "Mary..." Then she spoke.

"It is Easter Day, Laurie."

The boy nodded gently; and she saw his eyes slowly closing once more;
he was not yet half awake. So she went past him on tiptoe to the
window, turned the handle, and opened the white tall framework-like
door. A gush of air, sweet as wine, laden with the smell of dew and
spring flowers and wet lawns, stole in to meet her; and a blackbird,
in the shrubbery across the garden, broke into song, interrupted
himself, chattered melodiously, and s