Stephen's Walk, with Paddy trotting before us. High overhead was
the spirit-like blue of paling skies; the east was a great arc of
crystal, smitten through with auroral crimsonings; just above it
was one milk-white star of morning, like a pearl on a silver sea.
A light wind of dawn was weaving an orient spell.

"It's lovely to be up as early as this, isn't it?" said the Story
Girl. "The world seems so different just at sunrise, doesn't it?
It makes me feel just like getting up to see the sun rise every
morning of my life after this. But I know I won't. I'll likely
sleep later than ever tomorrow morning. But I wish I could."

"The Awkward Man and Miss Reade are going to have a lovely day for
their wedding," I said.

"Yes, and I'm so glad. Beautiful Alice deserves everything good.
Why, Bev--why, Bev! Who is that in the hammock?"

I looked. The hammock was swung under the two end trees of the
Walk. In it a man was lying, asleep, his head pillowed on his
overcoat. He was sleeping easily, lightly, and wholesomely. He
had a pointed brown beard and thick wavy brown hair. His cheeks
were a dusky red and the lashes of his closed eyes were as long
and dark and silken as a girl's. He wore a light gray suit, and
on the slender white hand that hung down over the hammock's edge
was a spark of diamond fire.

It seemed to me that I knew his face, although assuredly I had
never seen him before. While I groped among vague speculations
the Story Girl gave a queer, choked little cry. The next moment