"To live here," he murmured, "must be like living in Paradise!"
She sighed. There was a little wistful droop about her lips; her eyes
were still fixed northwards.
"I should like," he said, "to tell you a fairy story. It is about a
wife and a little boy."
"Whose wife?" she asked quickly.
"Mine," he replied.
There was a brief silence. A shadow had passed across her face. She
was very young and really very unsophisticated, and it may be that
already the idea had presented itself, however faintly, that his might
be the voice to call her into the promised land. Certain it is that
after that silence some glory seemed to have passed from the summer
evening.
"It is a fairy story and yet it is true," he went on, almost humbly.
"Somehow, no one will believe it. Will you try?"
"I will try," she promised.
Afterwards, he held the two beans in the palm of his hand and she turned
them over curiously.
"Tell me again what your wife is like?" she asked.
He told her the pitiless truth and then there was a long silence. As he
stood before her, a little breath of wind passed over the garden. He
came back from the world of sordid places to the land of enchantment.
There was certainly some spell upon him.
Pages:
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115