the landing ticking slumbrously in a measured activity that deepened
the peace. She heard Mrs. Marston slide past in her soft slippers with
her characteristic walk, rather like skating. Then Edward came up
(evidently in stockinged feet, for he was only heralded by creakings).
Hazel never dreamt that he had taken his shoes off for her sake.

The moon, riding clear of cloud, flung the shadow of Edward's primroses
on the bed--a large round posy like a Christmas-pudding with
outstanding leaves and flowers clearly defined, all very black on the
counterpane.

Undern seemed very far off.

'I like this better'n that old dark place, green dress or no green
dress,' she thought, 'and I'll ne'er go back there. It inna true what
he said, "Have her he will for certain sure," for I'm going to live
along of Ed'ard, and the old sleepy lady'll learn me to make batter for
ever and ever. Batter's a well-beaten mixture of eggs and summat.'

She fell asleep.

* * * * *

In his room Edward walked up and down, too happy to go to bed.

'My little one! my little one!' he whispered. And he prayed that Hazel
might have rosy and immortal happiness, guarded by strong angels along
a path of flowers all her life long, and at last running in through the
celestial gates as a child runs home.