effect, under this illumination, almost too brilliant and
beautiful for belief. Rose should never see it now, he
determined, until the furniture was in place. They had already
chosen the kitchen and bedroom things, though they would not be
needed for some months; but the rest was to wait until summer,
when there would be the hay-money to spend.

Stephen did not go back to the River Farm till one o'clock that
night; the pink bedroom held him in fetters too powerful to
break. It looked like the garden of Eden, he thought. To be
sure, it was only fifteen feet square; Eden might have been a
little larger, possibly, but otherwise the pink bedroom had every
advantage. The pattern of roses growing on a frellis was
brighter than any flower-bed in June; and the border--well, if
the border had been five dollars a foot Stephen would not have
grudged the money when he saw the twenty running yards of rosy
bloom rioting under the white ceiling.

Before he blew out the last light he raised it high above his
head and took one fond, final look. "It's the only place I ever
saw," he thought, "that is pretty enough for her. She will look
just as if she was growing here with all the other flowers, and I
shall always think of it as the garden of Eden. I wonder, if I
got the license and the ring and took her by surprise, whether
she'd be married in June instead of August? I could be all ready
if I could only persuade her."

At this moment Stephen touched the summit of happiness; and it is
a curious coincidence that as he was dreaming in his garden of
Eden, the serpent, having just arrived at Edgewood, was sleeping