reached across the road and grappled with each other. At every
step, as he pushed through the tangle, a shower of drops went
flying.

His was the incomparable buoyant humor of a lover treading a
newborn world. A smile was in his eyes, tender, luminous,
cheerful. He thought of the woman whom he had not seen for many
months, and he was buoyed up by the fine spiritual edge which does
not know defeat. Win or lose, it was clear gain to have loved her.

With him he carried a vision of her, young, ardent, all fire and
flame. One spoke of things beautiful and her face lit from within.
Her words, motions, came from the depths, half revealed and half
concealed dear hidden secrets. He recalled the grace of the
delicate throat curve, little tricks of expression, the sweetness
of her energy.

The forest broke, opening into a clearing. He stood to drink in
its beauty, for the sun, peeping over a saddle in the hills, had
painted the place a valley of gold and russet. And while he waited
there came out of the woods beyond, into that splendid setting,
the vision that was in his mind.

He was not surprised that his eyes were playing him tricks. This
was after all the proper frame for the picture of his golden
sweetheart. Lance-straight and slender, his wood nymph waded knee
deep through the ferns. Straight toward him she came, and his
temples began to throb. A sylph of the woods should be
diaphanous. The one he saw was a creature of color and warmth and
definiteness. Life, sweet and mocking, flowed through her