He had need of her. Would she not come to him? And
then of a sudden as she listened it came home to her that the man was
Harold Denver, and that she was the woman, and that all God's work was
very beautiful--the green sward beneath her feet, the rustling leaves,
the long orange slashes in the western sky. She spoke; she scarce knew
what the broken words were, but she saw the light of joy shine out on
his face, and her hand was still in his as they wandered amid the
twilight. They said no more now, but only wandered and felt each
other's presence. All was fresh around them, familiar and yet new,
tinged with the beauty of their new-found happiness.
"Did you not know it before?" he asked. "I did not dare to think it."
"What a mask of ice I must wear! How could a man feel as I have done
without showing it? Your sister at least knew."
"Ida!"
"It was last night. She began to praise you, I said what I felt, and
then in an instant it was all out."
"But what could you--what could you see in me? Oh, I do pray that you
may not repent it!" The gentle heart was ruffled amid its joy by the
thought of its own unworthiness.
"Repent it! I feel that I am a saved man. You do not know how
degrading this city life is, how debasing, and yet how absorbing.
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