"The day's duty, always; the thing that lies nearest your hand. You know, I've begun to see that it isn't so much our business to be happy as it is to do the things we are meant to do. And I think, too, that happiness comes most surely to those who do not go out in search of it, but do their work patiently, and wait for it to come."

"That may be true for others, but not for us. What happiness is there in the world for me, apart from you?"

"Memory," she reminded him gently. "We've had this much and n.o.body can take it away from us."

[Sidenote: Memories]

"But even this will hurt, heart's dearest, when we see each other no more."

"Not always." As she spoke, she sat down on the ground and leaned back against a tree. He dropped down beside her, slipped his arm around her, and drew her head to his shoulder, softly kissing her hair.

"I remember everything," she went on, "from the time you met me at the station. I can see you now as you came toward me, and that memory is all by itself, for n.o.body at the very first meeting looks the same as afterward. There is always some subtle change--I don't know why. Do I look the same to you now as I did then?"

"You've always been the most beautiful thing in the world to me, since the first moment I saw you."

"No, not the first moment."

"When was it, then, darling?"

"The first night, when I came down to dinner, in that pale green satin gown. Don't you remember?"

"As if I could ever forget!"

"And you thought I looked like a tiger-lily."

"Did I?"

"Yes, but you didn't say it and I was glad, for so many other men had said it before."

"Perhaps it was because, past all your splendour, I saw you--the one perfect and peerless woman G.o.d made for me and sent to me too late."

[Sidenote: Kisses]

"Not too late for the best of it, dear."

"What else do you remember?"

"Everything. I haven't forgotten a word nor a look nor a single kiss.

The strange sweet fires in your eyes, the clasp of your arms around me, your lips on mine, the nights we've lain awake with love surging from heart to heart and back again--it's all strung for me into a rosary of memories that nothing can ever take away."

"That first kiss, beloved. Do you remember?"

"Yes. It was here." She stretched out her arm and with a rosy finger-tip indicated the bare, sweet hollow of her elbow, just below the sleeve.

Lover-like, he kissed it again. "Do you love me?"

"Yes, Boy--for always."

"How much?"

"Better than everything else in the world. Do you love me?"

"Yes, with all my heart and soul and strength and will. There isn't a fibre of me that doesn't love you."

"For always?"

"Yes, for always."

And so they chanted the lover's litany until even the afterglow had died out of the sky. Edith released herself from his clinging arms. "We must go," she sighed. "It's getting late."

[Sidenote: If]

He a.s.sisted her to her feet, and led her to the boat, moored in shallows that made a murmurous singing all around it and upon the sh.o.r.e. He took her hand to help her in, then paused.

"If love were all," he asked, "what would you do?"

"If love were all," she answered, "I'd put my arms around you, like this, never to be unclasped again. I'd go with you to-night, to the end of the world, and ask for nothing but that we might be together. I'd face the heat of the desert uncomplainingly, the cold of perpetual snows. I'd bear anything, suffer anything, do anything. I'd so merge my life with yours that one heart-beat would serve us both, and when we died, we'd go together--if love were all."

"G.o.d bless you, dear!" he murmured, with his lips against hers.

"And you. Come."

The boat swung out over the shallows into the middle of the stream, where the current took them slowly and steadily toward home. For the most part they drifted, though Alden took care to keep the boat well out from sh.o.r.e, and now and then, with the stroke of an oar dipped up a myriad of mirrored stars.

[Sidenote: Seeking for a Message]

Edith laughed. "Give me one, won't you, please?"

"You shall have them all."

"But I asked only for one."

"Then choose."

She leaned forward, in the scented shadow, serious now, with a quick and characteristic change of mood. "The love star," she breathed. "Keep it burning for me, will you, in spite of clouds and darkness--for always?"

"Yes, my queen--for always."

When they reached the house, Madame was nowhere in sight. Divining their wish to be alone on this last evening together, she had long since gone to her own room. The candles on the mantel had been lighted and the reading lamp burned low. Near it was the little red book that Edith had found at the top of the Hill of the Muses.

Sighing, she took it up. "How long ago it seems," she said, "and yet it wasn't. Life began for me that night."

"And for me. I read to you, do you remember, just before I kissed you for the first time?"

"Yes. Read to me again just before you kiss me for the last time, then give me the book to keep."

"Which one? The same?"