incommunicable loveliness,--and the two youthful figures, throned
on their high dais of golden-green hay, might have passed for the
rustic Adam and Eve of some newly created Eden. They were both
very quiet,--with the tense quietness of hearts that are too full
for speech. A joy in the present was shadowed with a dim
unconscious fear of the future in both their thoughts,--though
neither of them would have expressed their feelings in this regard
one to the other. A thrush warbled in a hedge close by, and the
doves on the farmhouse gables spread their white wings to the late
sunlight, cooing amorously. And again the man spoke, with a gentle
firmness:

"All my life I shall love you, Innocent! Whatever happens,
remember that! All my life!"




CHAPTER II

The swinging open of a great gate at the further end of the field
disturbed the momentary silence which followed his words. The
returning haymakers appeared on the scene, leading Roger at their
head, and Innocent jumped up eagerly, glad of the interruption.

"Here comes old Roger!" she cried,--"bless his heart! Now, Robin,
you must try to look very stately! Are you going to ride home
standing or sitting?"

He was visibly annoyed at her light indifference.