drawing interest as he watched Leslie. Never had her form seemed so
perfect, her dress so becoming and simple. How could other women make a
vulgar display in the same pattern that clothed her modestly? How
wonderful were the soft coils of her hair, the tints paling and flushing
on her cheeks, her shining eyes! Why could not all women use her low,
even, perfectly accented speech and deliberate self-control?

He was in daily intercourse with her father, a high official of the city,
a man of education, social position, and wealth. Mr. Winton had reared his
only child according to his ideas; but Douglas, knowing these things,
believed in blood also. As Leslie turned and warmed the water, watching
her, the thought was strong in his mind: what a woman her mother must have
been! Each day he was with Leslie, he saw her do things that no amount of
culture could instil. Instinct and tact are inborn; careful rearing may
produce a good imitation, they are genuine only with blood. Leslie had
always filled his ideal of a true woman. To ignore him for his gift would
have piqued many a man; Douglas Bruce was pleased.

"You wonders!" she said softly. "Oh you wonders! When the mists lifted in
the marshes this morning, and the first ray of gold touched you to equal
goldness, you didn't know you were coming to me. I almost wish I could put
you back. Just now you should be in such cool mistiness, while you should
be hearing a hermit thrush sing vespers, a cedar bird call, and a whip-
poor-will cry. But I'm glad I have you! Oh I'm so glad you came to me! I
never materialized a whole swamp with such vividness as only this little
part of it brings. Douglas, when you caught the first glimpse of these,
how far into the swamp did you see past them?"

"To the heart--of the swamp--and of my heart."