In the garden, shafts of white light pierced the bordering trees and fell

where June roses lifted their heads to breathe the mild night breeze, and

here, through summer spells, the editor of the "Herald" and the lady who

had run to him at the pasture bars strolled down a path trembling with

shadows to where the shallow creek tinkled over the pebbles. They walked

slowly, with an air of being well-accustomed friends and comrades, and for

some reason it did not strike either of them as unnatural or

extraordinary. They came to a bench on the bank, and he made a great fuss

dusting the seat for her with his black slouch hat. Then he regretted the

hat--it was a shabby old hat of a Carlow County fashion.

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It was a long bench, and he seated himself rather remotely toward the end

opposite her, suddenly realizing that he had walked very close to her,

coming down the narrow garden path. Neither knew that neither had spoken

since they left the veranda; and it had taken them a long time to come

through the little orchard and the garden. She rested her chin on her

hand, leaning forward and looking steadily at the creek. Her laughter had

quite gone; her attitude seemed a little wistful and a little sad. He

noted that her hair curled over her brow in a way he had not pictured in

the lady of his dreams; this was so much lovelier. He did not care for

tall girls; he had not cared for them for almost half an hour. It was so

much more beautiful to be dainty and small and piquant. He had no notion

that he was sighing in a way that would have put a furnace to shame, but

he turned his eyes from her because he feared that if he looked longer he

might blurt out some speech about her beauty. His glance rested on the

bank; but its diameter included the edge of her white skirt and the tip of

a little, white, high-heeled slipper that peeped out beneath it; and he

had to look away from that, too, to keep from telling her that he meant to

advocate a law compelling all women to wear crisp, white gowns and white

slippers on moonlight nights.

She picked a long spear of grass from the turf before her, twisted it

absently in her fingers, then turned to him slowly. Her lips parted as if

to speak. Then she turned away again. The action was so odd, and somehow,

as she did it, so adorable, and the preserved silence was such a bond

between them, that for his life he could not have helped moving half-way

up the bench toward her.




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