"--And that you have been untrue to the eternal fidelity which you vowed
to me here by this very stream! Oh, but I cannot believe it was thirty
years ago, for not a grass-blade or a pebble has been altered; and I
perfectly remember the lapping of water under those lichened rocks, and
that continuous file of ripples yonder, which are shaped like
arrowheads."

Adelaide rubbed her nose. "Did I promise eternal fidelity? I can hardly
remember that far back. But I remember I wept a great deal, and my
parents assured me you were either dead or a rascal, so that tears could
not help either way. Then Ralph de Nointel came along, good man, and made
me a fair husband, as husbands go--"

"As for that stream," then said Dame Melicent, "it is often I have
thought of that stream, sitting here with my grandchildren where I once
sat with gay young men whom nobody remembers now save me. Yes, it is
strange to think that instantly, and within the speaking of any simple
word, no drop of water retains the place it had before the word was
spoken: and yet the stream remains unchanged, and stays as it was when I
sat here with those young men who are gone. Yes, that is a strange
thought, and it is a sad thought, too, for those of us who are old."

"But, Mother, of course the stream remains unchanged," agreed Dame
Adelaide. "Streams always do except after heavy rains. Everybody knows
that, and I can see nothing very remarkable about it. As for you,
Florian, if you stickle for love's being an immortal affair," she added,
with a large twinkle, "I would have you know I have been a widow for
three years. So the matter could be arranged."

Florian looked at her sadly. To him the situation was incongruous with