PARTI
　　Suchadaymadegladtheheart。AlltheflagsofJulywerewaving;
　　thesunandthepoppiesflaming;whitebutterfliesspiringupandtwining，andthebeesbusyonthesnapdragons。Thelime—treeswerecomingintoflower。Tallwhiteliliesinthegardenbedsalreadyrivaledthedelphiniums;theYorkandLancasterroseswerefull—blownroundtheirgoldenhearts。Therewasagentlebreeze，andaswishandstirandhumroseandfellabovetheheadofEdwardPierson，comingbackfromhislonelyrambleoverTinternAbbey。HehadarrivedatKestrel，hisbrotherRobert’shomeonthebankoftheWyeonlythatmorning，havingstayedatBathonthewaydown;andnowhehadgothisfaceburntinthatparti—colouredwaypeculiartothefacesofthosewhohavebeentoolonginLondon。Ashecamealongthenarrow，ratherovergrownavenue，thesoundofawaltzthrummedoutonapianofellonhisears，andhesmiled，formusicwasthegreatestpassionhehad。Hisdarkgrizzledhairwaspushedbackoffhishotbrow，whichhefannedwithhisstrawhat。Thoughnotbroad，thatbrowwasthebroadestpartofanarrowovalfacewhoselengthwasincreasedbyashort，dark，pointedbeard——avisagesuchasVandykmighthavepainted，graveandgentle，butforitsbrightgreyeyes，cinder—lashed。andcrow’s—footed，anditsstrangelookofnotseeingwhatwasbeforeit。Hewalkedquickly，thoughhewastiredandhot;tall，upright，andthin，inagreyparsonicalsuit，onwhoseblackkerseymerevestalittlegoldcrossdangled。
　　Abovehisbrother’shouse，whoseslopinggardenrandowntotherailwaylineandriver，alargeroomhadbeenbuiltoutapart。
　　Piersonstoodwheretheavenueforked，enjoyingthesoundofthewaltz，andthecoolwhippingofthebreezeinthesycamoresandbirches。Amanoffifty，withasenseofbeauty，bornandbredinthecountry，suffersfearfullyfromnostalgiaduringalongunbrokenspellofLondon;sothathisafternoonintheoldAbbeyhadbeenalmostholy。Hehadlethissensessinkintothesunlitgreeneryofthetoweringwoodsopposite;hehadwatchedthespidersandthelittleshiningbeetles，theflycatchers，andsparrowsintheivy;
　　touchedthemossesandthelichens;lookedthespeedwellsintheeye;
　　dreamedofheknewnotwhat。Ahawkhadbeenwheelingupthereabovethewoods，andhehadbeenuptherewithitintheblue。Hehadtakenarealspiritualbath，andwashedthedustyfretofLondonoffhissoul。
　　Forayearhehadbeenworkinghisparishsingle—handed——nojoke——
　　forhiscuratehadgoneforachaplain;andthiswashisfirstrealholidaysincethewarbegan，twoyearsago;hisfirstvisit，too，tohisbrother’shome。Helookeddownatthegarden，andupatthetreesoftheavenue。BobhadfoundaperfectretreatafterhisquarterofacenturyinCeylon。DearoldBob！Andhesmiledatthethoughtofhiselderbrother，whoseburntfaceandfiercegreywhiskerssomewhatrecalledaBengaltiger;thekindestfellowthateverbreathed！Yes，hehadfoundaperfecthomeforThirzaandhimself。AndEdwardPiersonsighed。Hetoohadoncehadaperfecthome，aperfectwife;thewoundofwhosedeath，fifteenyearsago，stillbledalittleinhisheart。Theirtwodaughters，GratianandNoel，hadnot"takenafter"her;Gratianwaslikehisownmother，andNoel’sfairhairandbiggreyeyesalwaysremindedhimofhiscousinLeila，who——poorthing！——hadmadethatsadmessofherlife，andnow，hehadheard，wassingingforaliving，inSouthAfrica。Ah！WhataprettygirlshehadbeenDrawnbythateternalwaltztunehereachedthedoorwayofthemusic—
　　room。Achintzcurtainhungthere，andtothesoundoffeetslippingonpolishedboards，hesawhisdaughterNoelwaltzingslowlyinthearmsofayoungofficerinkhaki:Roundandroundtheywent，circling，backing，movingsidewayswithcuriousstepswhichseemedtohavecomeinrecently，forhedidnotrecognisethem。AtthepianosathisnieceEve，withateasingsmileonherrosyface。ButitwasathisyoungdaughterthatEdwardPiersonlooked。Hereyeswerehalf—closed，hercheeksratherpale，andherfairhair，cutquiteshort，curledintoherslimroundneck。Quitecoolsheseemed，thoughtheyoungmaninwhosearmsshewasglidingalonglookedfieryhot;ahandsomeboy，withblueeyesandalittlegoldendownontheupperlipofhissunnyred—cheekedface。EdwardPiersonthought:
　　’Nicecouple！’Andhadamoment’svisionofhimselfandLeila，dancingatthatlong—agoCambridgeMayWeek——onherseventeenthbirthday，heremembered，sothatshemusthavebeenayearyoungerthanNolliewasnow！Thiswouldbetheyoungmanshehadtalkedofinherlettersduringthelastthreeweeks。Weretheynevergoingtostop？
　　Hepassedintoviewofthosewithin，andsaid:
　　"Aren’tyouveryhot，Nollie？"
　　Sheblewhimakiss;theyoungmanlookedstartledandself—
　　conscious，andEvecalledout:
　　"It’sabet，Uncle。They’vegottodancemedown。"
　　Piersonsaidmildly:
　　"Abet？Mydears！"
　　Noelmurmuredoverhershoulder:
　　"It’sallright，Daddy！"Andtheyoungmangasped:
　　"She’sbetusoneofherpuppiesagainstoneofmine，sir！"
　　Piersonsatdown，alittlehypnotizedbythesleepystrumming，theslowgiddymovementofthedancers，andthosehalf—closedswimmingeyesofhisyoungdaughter，lookingathimoverhershoulderasshewentby。Hesatwithasmileonhislips。Nolliewasgrowingup！
　　NowthatGratianwasmarried，shehadbecomeagreatresponsibility。
　　Ifonlyhisdearwifehadlived！Thesmilefadedfromhislips;helookedsuddenlyverytired。Thestruggle，physicalandspiritual，hehadbeenthrough，thesefifteenyears，sometimesweighedhimalmosttotheground:Mostmenwouldhavemarriedagain，buthehadalwaysfeltitwouldbesacrilege。Realunionswereforever，eventhoughtheChurchpermittedremarriage。
　　Hewatchedhisyoungdaughterwithamixtureofaestheticpleasureandperplexity。Couldthisbegoodforher？Togoondancingindefinitelywithoneyoungmancouldthatpossiblybegoodforher？
　　Buttheylookedveryhappy;andtherewassomuchinyoungcreaturesthathedidnotunderstand。Noel，soaffectionate，anddreamy，seemedsometimespossessedofalittledevil。EdwardPiersonwasnaif;attributedthoseoutburstsofdemonicpossessiontothelossofhermotherwhenshewassuchamite;Gratian，buttwoyearsolder，hadnevertakenamother’splace。Thathadbeenlefttohimself，andhewasmoreorlessconsciousoffailure。
　　Hesattherelookingupatherwithasortofwhimsicaldistress。
　　And，suddenly，inthatdaintyvoiceofhers，whichseemedtospurneachwordalittle，shesaid:
　　"I’mgoingtostop！"and，sittingdownbesidehim，tookuphishattofanherself。
　　Evestruckatriumphantchord。"HurrahI’vewon！"
　　Theyoungmanmuttered:
　　"Isay，Noel，weweren’thalfdone！"
　　"Iknow;butDaddywasgettingbored，weren’tyou，dear？ThisisCyrilMorland。"
　　Piersonshooktheyoungman’shand。
　　"Daddy，yournoseisburnt！"
　　"Mydear;Iknow。"
　　"Icangiveyousomewhitestuffforit。Youhavetosleepwithitonallnight。UncleandAuntiebothuseit。"
　　"Nollie！"
　　"Well，Evesaysso。Ifyou’regoingtobathe，Cyril，lookoutforthatcurrent！"
　　Theyoungman，gazingatherwithundisguisedadoration，muttered:
　　"Rather！"andwentout。
　　Noel’seyeslingeredafterhim;Evebrokeasilence。
　　"Ifyou’regoingtohaveabathbeforetea，Nollie，you’dbetterhurryup。"
　　"Allright。WasitjollyintheAbbey，Daddy？"
　　"Lovely;likeagreatpieceofmusic。"
　　"Daddyalwaysputseverythingintomusic。Yououghttoseeitbymoonlight;it’sgorgeousthen。Allright，Eve;I’mcoming。"Butshedidnotgetup，andwhenEvewasgone，cuddledherarmthroughherfather’sandmurmured:
　　"Whatd’youthinkofCyril？"
　　"Mydear，howcanItell？Heseemsanice—lookingyoungman。"
　　"Allright，Daddy;don’tstrainyourself。It’sjollydownhere，isn’tit？"Shegotup，stretchedherselfalittle，andmovedaway，lookinglikeaverytallchild，withhershorthaircurlinginroundherhead。
　　Pierson，watchinghervanishpastthecurtain，thought:’Whatalovelythingsheis！’Andhegotuptoo，butinsteadoffollowing，wenttothepiano，andbegantoplayMendelssohn’sPreludeandFugueinEminor。Hehadafinetouch，andplayedwithasortofdreamypassion。Itwashiswayoutofperplexities，regrets，andlongings;
　　awaywhichneverquitefailedhim。
　　AtCambridge，hehadintendedtotakeupmusicasaprofession，butfamilytraditionhaddestinedhimforHolyOrders，andanemotionalChurchrevivalofthatdayhadcaughthiminitsstream。Hehadalwayshadprivatemeans，andthoseearlyyearsbeforehemarriedhadpassedhappilyinanEast—Endparish。Tohavenotonlyopportunitybutpowertohelpinthelivesofthepoorhadbeenfascinating;
　　simplehimself，thesimplefolkofhisparishhadtakenholdofhisheart。When，however，hemarriedAgnesHeriot，hewasgivenaparishofhisownonthebordersofEastandWest，wherehehadbeeneversince，evenafterherdeathhadnearlykilledhim。Itwasbettertogoonwhereworkandallremindedhimofonewhomhehadresolvednevertoforgetinotherties。Butheknewthathisworkhadnotthezestitusedtohaveinherday，orevenbeforeherday。Itmaywellbedoubtedwhetherhe，whohadbeeninHolyOrderstwenty—sixyears，quiteknewnowwhathebelieved。Everythinghadbecomecircumscribed，andfixed，bythousandsofhisownutterances;tohavetakenfreshstockofhisfaith，tohavegonedeepintoitsroots，wouldhavebeenliketakingupthefoundationsofastill—standinghouse。Somemennaturallyrootthemselvesintheinexpressible——forwhichoneformulaismuchthesameasanother;thoughEdwardPierson，gentlydogmatic，undoubtedlypreferredhisHigh—Churchstatementoftheinexpressibletothatof，say，theZoroastrians。Thesubtletiesofchange，themodificationsbyscience，leftlittlesenseofinconsistencyortreasononhissoul。Sensitive，charitable，andonlycombativedeepdown，heinstinctivelyavoideddiscussiononmatterswherehemighthurtothersortheyhurthim。And，sinceexplanationwasthelastthingwhichocouldbeexpectedofonewhodidnotbasehimselfonReason，hehadfoundbutscantoccasionevertoexamineanything。JustasintheoldAbbeyhehadsoaredoffintotheinfinitewiththehawk，thebeetles，andthegrasses，sonow，atthepiano，bythesesoundsofhisownmaking，hewascaughtawayagainintoemotionalism，withoutrealisingthathewasinoneofhis，mostreligiousmoods。
　　"Aren’tyoucomingtotea，Edward？"
　　Thewomanstandingbehindhim，inalilac—colouredgown，hadoneofthosefaceswhichremaininnocenttotheendofthechapter，inspiteofthecompleteknowledgeoflifewhichappertainstomothers。Indaysofsufferingandanxiety，liketheseofthegreatwar，ThirzaPiersonwasavaluableperson。Withouteverexpressinganopiniononcosmicmatters，shereconfirmedcertaincosmictruths，suchasthatthoughthewholeworldwasatwar，therewassuchathingaspeace;
　　thatthoughallthesonsofmotherswerebeingkilled，thereremainedsuchathingasmotherhood;thatwhileeverybodywaslivingforthefuture，thepresentstillexisted。Hertranquil，tender，matter—of—
　　factbusyness，andthedewinhereyes，hadbeenproofagainsttwenty—threeyearsoflifeonatea—plantationinthehotpartofCeylon;againstBobPierson;againsttheanxietyofhavingtwosonsatthefront，andtheconfidencesofnearlyeveryoneshecameacross。Nothingdisturbedher。Shewaslikeapaintingof"Goodness"byanOldMaster，restoredbyKateGreenaway。Sheneverwenttomeetlife，butwhenitcame，madethebestofit。Thiswashersecret，andPiersonalwaysfeltrestedinherpresence。
　　Herose，andmovedbyherside，overthelawn，towardsthebigtreeatthebottomofthegarden。
　　"Howd’youthinkNoelislooking，Edward？"
　　"Verypretty。Thatyoungman，Thirza？"
　　"Yes;I’mafraidhe’soverheadandearsinlovewithher。"
　　Atthedismayedsoundheuttered，sheslippedhersoftroundarmwithinhis。"He’sgoingtothefrontsoon，poorboy！"
　　"Havetheytalkedtoyou？"
　　"Hehas。Nolliehasn’tyet。"
　　"Nollieisaqueerchild，Thirza。"
　　"Nollieisadarling，butratheradesperatecharacter，Edward。"
　　Piersonsighed。
　　Inaswingunderthetree，wherethetea—thingsweresetout，the"ratherdesperatecharacter"wasswaying。"Whatapicturesheis！"
　　hesaid，andsighedagain。
　　Thevoiceofhisbrothercametothem，——highandsteamy，asthoughcorruptedbytheclimateofCeylon:
　　"Youincorrigibledreamychap，Ted！We’veeatenalltheraspberries。
　　Eve，givehimsomejam;hemustbedead！Phew！theheat！Comeon，mydear，andpourouthistea。Hallo，Cyril！Hadagoodbathe？ByGeorge，wishmyheadwaswet！Squattez—vousdownoverthere，byNollie;she’llswing，andkeepthefliesoffyou。"
　　"Givemeacigarette，UncleBob——"
　　"What！Yourfatherdoesn’t——"
　　"Justfortheflies。Youdon’tmind，Daddy？"
　　"Notifit’snecessary，mydear。"
　　Noelsmiled，showingherupperteeth，andhereyesseemedtoswimundertheirlonglashes。
　　"Itisn’tnecessary，butit’snice。"
　　"Ah，ha！"saidBobPierson。"Hereyouare，Nollie！"
　　ButNoelshookherhead。Atthatmomentshestruckherfatherasstartlinglygrown—up—socomposed，swayingabovethatyoungmanatherfeet，whosesunnyfacewasalladoration。’Nolongerachild！’hethought。’DearNollie！’
　　II
　　1
　　Awakenedbythatdailycruelty，theadventofhotwater，EdwardPiersonlayinhischintz—curtainedroom，fancyinghimselfbackinLondon。Awildbeehuntinghoneyfromthebowlofflowersonthewindow—sill，andthescentofsweetbrier，shatteredthatillusion。
　　Hedrewthecurtain，and，kneelingonthewindow—seatthrusthisheadoutintothemorning。Theairwasintoxicatinglysweet。Hazeclungovertheriverandthewoodsbeyond;thelawnsparkledwithdew，andtwowagtailsstruttedinthedewysunshine。’ThankGodforloveliness！’hethought。’Thosepoorboysatthefront！’Andkneelingwithhiselbowsonthesill，hebegantosayhisprayers。
　　Thesamefeelingwhichmadehimbeautifyhischurch，usevestments，goodmusic，andincense，filledhimnow。GodwasinthelovelinessofHisworld，aswellasinHischurches。OnecouldworshipHiminagroveofbeechtrees，inabeautifulgarden，onahighhill，bythebanksofabrightriver。Godwasintherustleoftheleaves，andthehumofabee，inthedewonthegrass，andthescentofflowers;
　　Godwasineverything！Andheaddedtohisusualprayerthiswhisper:"IgiveTheethanksformysenses，OLord。Inallofus，keepthembright，andgratefulforbeauty。"Thenheremainedmotionless，preytoasortofhappyyearningverynear，tomelancholy。Greatbeautyeverhadthateffectonhim。Onecouldcapturesolittleofit——couldneverenjoyitenough！Whowasithadsaidnotlongago:"Loveofbeautyisreallyonlythesexinstinct，whichnothingbutcompleteunionsatisfies。"Ah！yes，George——
　　Gratian’shusband。GeorgeLaird！Andalittlefrowncamebetweenhisbrows，asthoughatsomethornintheflesh。PoorGeorge！Butthen，alldoctorswerematerialistsatheart——splendidfellows，though;afinefellow，George，workinghimselftodeathoutthereinFrance。Onemustnottakethemtooseriously。Hepluckedabitofsweetbrierandputittohisnose，whichstillretainedtheshineofthatbleachingointmentNoelhadinsistedonhisusing。Thesweetsmellofthoselittleroughleavesstirredupanacuteaching。Hedroppedthem，anddrewback。Nolongings，nomelancholy;oneoughttobeout，thisbeautifulmorning！
　　ItwasSunday;buthehadnottotakethreeServicesandpreachatleastonesermon;thisdayofrestwasreallytobehisown，foronce。Itwasalmostdisconcerting;hehadsolongfeltlikethecabhorsewhocouldnotbetakenoutoftheshaftslestheshouldfalldown。Hedressedwithextraordinarydeliberation，andhadnotquitefinishedwhentherecameaknockonhisdoor，andNoel’svoicesaid:
　　"CanIcomein，Daddy？"
　　Inherflax—bluefrock，withaGloiredeDijonrosepinnedwhereitmetonherfaintlybrownedneck，sheseemedtoherfatheraperfectvisionoffreshness。
　　"Here’saletterfromGratian;Georgehasbeensenthomeill，andhe’sgonetoourhouse。She’sgotleavefromherhospitaltocomehomeandnursehim。"
　　Piersonreadtheletter。"PoorGeorge！"
　　"Whenareyougoingtoletmebeanurse，Daddy？"
　　"Wemustwaittillyou’reeighteen，Nollie。"
　　"IcouldeasilysayIwas。It’sonlyamonth;andIlookmuchmore。"
　　Piersonsmiled。
　　"Don’tI？"
　　"Youmightbeanythingfromfifteentotwenty—five，mydear，accordingasyoubehave。"
　　"Iwanttogooutasnearthefrontaspossible。"
　　Herheadwaspoisedsothatthesunlightframedherface，whichwasratherbroad——thebrowrathertoobroad——underthewavinglight—brownhair，thenoseshortandindeterminate;cheeksstillroundfromyouth，almostwaxen—pale，andfaintlyhollowedundertheeyes。Itwasherlips，daintyyetloving，andaboveallhergreyeyes，biganddreamilyalive，whichmadeheraswan。Hecouldnotimagineherinnurse’sgarb。
　　"Thisisnew，isn’tit，Nollie？"
　　"CyrilMorland’ssistersarebothout;andhe’llbegoingsoon。
　　Everybodygoes。"
　　"Gratianhasn’tgotoutyet:Ittakesalongtimetogettrained。"
　　"Iknow;allthemorereasontobegin。"
　　Shegotup，lookedathim，lookedatherhands，seemedabouttospeak，butdidnot。Alittlecolourhadcomeintohercheeks。Then，obviouslymakingconversation，sheasked:
　　"Areyougoingtochurch？It’sworthanythingtohearUncleBobreadtheLessons，especiallywhenheloseshisplace。No;you’renottoputonyourlongcoattilljustbeforechurchtime。Iwon’thaveit！"
　　ObedientlyPiersonresignedhislongcoat。
　　"Now，yousee，youcanhavemyrose。Yournoseisbetter！"Shekissedhisnose，andtransferredherrosetothebuttonholeofhisshortcoat。"That’sall。Comealong！"Andwithherarmthroughhis，theywentdown。Butheknewshehadcometosaysomethingwhichshehadnotsaid。
　　2
　　BobPierson，invirtueofgreaterwealththantherestofthecongregation，alwaysreadtheLessons，inhishighsteamyvoice，hisbreathingneveradjustedtothelengthofanyperiod。Thecongregation，accustomed，heardnothingpeculiar;hewasthenecessarygentrywiththenecessaryfingerinthepie。Itwashisownfamilywhomheperturbed。Inthesecondrow，Noel，staringsolemnlyattheprofileofherfatherinthefrontrow，wasthinking:
　　’PoorDaddy！Hiseyeslookasiftheywerecomingout。Oh，Daddy！
　　Smile！orit’llhurtyou！’YoungMorlandbesideher，rigidinhistunic，wasthinking:’Sheisn’tthinkingofme！’Andjustthenherlittlefingercrookedintohis。EdwardPiersonwasthinking:’Oh！MydearoldBob！Oh！’And，besidehim，Thirzathought:’PoordearTedI
　　howniceforhimtobehavingacompleterest！Imustmakehimeathe’ssothin！’AndEvewasthinking:’Oh，Father！Mercy！’ButBobPiersonwasthinking:’Cheeroh！Onlyanotherthreeverses！’Noel’slittlefingerunhookeditself，buthereyesstoleroundtoyoungMorland’seyes，andtherewasalightinthemwhichlingeredthroughthesingingandtheprayers。Atlast，inthereverentialrustleofthesettlingcongregation，asurplicedfiguremountedthepulpit。
　　"IcomenottobringPeace，butasword。"
　　Piersonlookedup。Hefeltdeeprestfulness。Therewasapleasantlightinthischurch;thehumofacountrybluebottlemadeallthedifferencetothequalityofsilence。Nocriticalthoughtstirredwithinhim，noranyexcitement。Hewasthinking:’NowIshallhearsomethingformygood;afinetext;whendidIpreachfromitlast？’
　　Turnedalittleawayfromtheothers，hesawnothingbutthepreacher’shomelyfaceupthereabovethecarvedoak;itwassolongsincehehadbeenpreachedto，solongsincehehadhadarest！Thewordscameforth，droppedonhisforehead，penetrated，metsomethingwhichabsorbedthem，anddisappeared。’Agoodplainsermon！’hethought。’IsupposeI’mstale;Idon’tseem——’"Letusnot，dearbrethren，"dronedthepreacher’searnestvoice，"thinkthatourdearLord，insayingthatHebroughtasword，referredtoaphysicalsword。ItwastheswordofthespirittowhichHewasundoubtedlyreferring，thatbrightswordofthespiritwhichinallageshascleaveditswaythroughthefettersimposedonmenthemselvesbytheirowndesires，imposedbymenonothermeningratificationoftheirambitions，aswehavehadsostrikinganexampleintheinvasionbyourcruelenemiesofalittleneighbouringcountrywhichhaddonethemnoharm。Dearbrethren，wemayallbringswords。"
　　Pierson’schinjerked;heraisedhishandquicklyandpasseditoverhisface。’Allbringswords，’hethought，’swords——Iwasn’tasleep——
　　surely！’"Butletusbesurethatourswordsarebright;brightwithhope，andbrightwithfaith，thatwemayseethemflashingamongthecarnaldesiresofthismortallife，carvingapathforustowardsthatheavenlykingdomwherealoneispeace，perfectpeace。Letuspray。"
　　Piersondidnotshuthiseyes;heopenedthemashefellonhisknees。Intheseatbehind，NoelandyoungMorlandhadalsofallenontheirkneestheirfacescoveredeachwithasinglehand;butherlefthandandhisrighthungattheirsides。Theyprayedalittlelongerthananyothersand，onrising，sangthehymnalittlelouder。
　　3
　　NopapercameonSundays——noteventhelocalpaper，whichhadsolongandsonoblydoneitsbitwithheadlinestowinthewar。Nonewswhatevercame，ofmenblownup，toenliventhehushofthehotJulyafternoon，orthesenseofdrugging——whichfollowedAuntThirza’sSundaylunch。Someslept，somethoughttheywereawake;butNoelandyoungMorlandwalkedupwardthroughthewoodstowardsahighcommonofheathandfurze，crownedbywhatwasknownasKestrelrocks。
　　Betweenthesetwoyoungpeoplenoactualwordoflovehadyetbeenspoken。Theirloveringhadadvancedbyglanceandtouchalone。
　　YoungMorlandwasaschoolandcollegefriendofthetwoPiersonboysnowatthefront。Hehadnohomeofhisown，forhisparentsweredead;andthiswasnothisfirstvisittoKestrel。Arrivingthreeweeksago，forhisfinalleavebeforeheshouldgoout，hehadfoundagirlsittinginalittlewagonetteoutsidethestation，andhadknownhisfateatonce。ButwhoknowswhenNoelfellinlove？Shewas——onesupposes——justreadyforthatsensation。Forthelasttwoyearsshehadbeenatoneofthosehigh—classfinishingestablishmentswhere，inspiteofthehealthycurriculum，perhapsbecauseofit，thereiseveranundercurrentofinterestintheopposingsex;andnoteventhegravesteffortstoeliminateinstinctarequitesuccessful。Thedisappearanceofeveryyoungmalethingintothemawofthemilitarymachineputapremiumoninstinct。ThethoughtsofNoelandherschoolcompanionswereturned，perforce，tothatwhich，inpre—warfreedomofopportunitytheycouldaffordtoregardasofsecondaryinterest。LoveandMarriageandMotherhood，fixedasthelotofwomenbythecountlessages，werethreatenedfortheseyoungcreatures。Theynotunnaturallypursuedwhattheyfelttobereceding。
　　WhenyoungMorlandshowed，byfollowingheraboutwithhiseyes，whatwashappeningtohim，Noelwaspleased。Frombeingpleased，shebecamealittleexcited;frombeingexcitedshebecamedreamy。Then，aboutaweekbeforeherfather’sarrival，shesecretlybegantofollowtheyoungmanaboutwithhereyes;becamecapricioustoo，andalittlecruel。Iftherehadbeenanotheryoungmantofavour——buttherewasnot;andshefavouredUncleBob’sredsetter。CyrilMorlandgrewdesperate。Duringthosethreedaysthedemonherfatherdreadedcertainlypossessedher。Andthen，oneevening，whiletheywalkedbacktogetherfromthehay—fields，shegavehimasidelongglance;andhegaspedout:"Oh！Noel，whathaveIdone？"Shecaughthishand，andgaveitaquicksqueeze。Whatachange！Whatblissfulalterationeversince！
　　ThroughthewoodyoungMorlandmountedsilently，screwinghimselfuptoputthingstothetouch。Noeltoomountedsilently，thinking:’I
　　willkisshimifhekissesme！’Eagerness，andasortoflanguor，wererunninginherveins;shedidnotlookathimfromunderhershadyhat。Sunlightpoureddownthrougheverychinkinthefoliage;
　　madethegreennessofthesteepwoodmarvellouslyvividandalive;
　　flashedonbeechleaves，ashleaves，birchleaves;fellonthegroundinlittlerunlets;paintedbrightpatchesontrunksandgrass，thebeechmast，theferns;butterflieschasedeachotherinthatsunlight，andmyriadsofantsandgnatsandfliesseemedpossessedbyafrenzyoflife。Thewholewoodseemedpossessed，asifthesunshinewereahappyBeingwhichhadcometodwelltherein。Atahalf—wayspot，wherethetreesopenedandtheycouldsee，farbelowthem，thegleamoftheriver，shesatdownontheboleofabeech—