He drew near
to the crossing. He saw the figure on the bridge, and for a moment
stood at gaze.
Irene was aware of someone regarding her. She moved. He stood below,
the ripple-edge of the water touching his foot. Upon his upturned
face, dark eyes wide in joy and admiration, firm lips wistfully
subduing their smile, the golden sunlight shimmered through
overhanging foliage. She spoke.
"Everything around is beautiful, but this most of all."
"There is nothing more beautiful," he answered, "in all the dales."
The words had come to her easily and naturally, after so much
trouble as to what the first words should be. His look was enough.
She scorned her distrust, scorned the malicious gossip that had
excited it. Her mind passed into consonance with the still, warm
hour, with the loveliness of all about her.
"I haven't been that way yet." She pointed up the glen. "Will you
come?"
"Gladly! I was here with Mrs. Borisoff this morning, and wished so
much you had been with us."
Irene stepped down from the bridge down to the beckside. The
briefest shadow of annoyance had caused her to turn her face away;
there followed contentment that he spoke of the morning, at once and
so frankly. She was able to talk without restraint, uttering her
delight at each new picture as they went along. They walked very
slowly, ever turning to admire, stopping to call each other's
attention with glowing words.
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