O, blue-eyed Katie Coleman, do you remember the summer days that you
and I, two merry hoydens in our earliest teens, laughed or dreamed away among
the joyous Perry Woods? Now it was a butterfly, a tiger-moth, a glittering
dragon-fly which we chased, and left uncaptured at the last; now it was the
white and yellow violets in the meadow beyond the wood that tempted us to
the destruction of hose and shoon; now it was the nodding Solomon's seal, the
purple orchis, the gay columbine, that we sought upon the hill-side, and though
we lost each a shoe in the meadow, we found whole handfuls of lady's-slippers
in the wood. And do you remember, Katie, when we pulled the farmer's radishes,
and sitting under the edge of the wood, eat the stolen treasure with its
clinging soil, and even while the acrid flavor brought tears to our eyes, assured
each other that it was a feast. Ah, pretty Katie Coleman! Twenty years
since then, my friend, twenty stages from that idyllian age of golden romance!
But the sunshine that flecked the turf of Perry's Woods with sheen still glimmers
duskily through my life, and shows me here and there around my feet a
flower that, without it, I might never see.

And if this blue sky above my head arches also over yours, may it shed all
balmy dews upon your path, all peace and love upon your life, for the sake of
those blithe days bygone. And if, my Katie, you now dwell above, as I beneath

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the sky, I know right well that your pure heart and gentle nature will have led
you to other woods and other flowers, fairer even than the sunny memories of
youth.

So it was to Perry's Woods that Vaughn and Neria rode upon the breezy
March morning when he spoke. The sky was a pure bright blue, islanded with
great white cumuli. The south wind smelt of violets a-bloom whence it had
come. The willow twigs made a wreath of rosy mist along the brook-side—the
brook that warbled loud and warbled soft its spring-tide song. The earliest
bluebird of the year praised God from the topmost branches of the elm. The
exquisite tracery of twig and branch against the lucent sky was better than
foliage, and the springing grass under foot was fairer to the winter-withered
senses than all the flush of bloom that should bourgeon the summer.

Neria sat upon her white palfrey, and with her smiling eyes seemed to gather
in and taken possession of the scene until its charm incorporated itself in her
being, and shone forth again, adding a new and subtle beauty to what had seemed
finished already.

Vaughn looked only at her, and the love of a man's strong nature made his
face as that of a god. She turned suddenly, and met his eyes—met and read
them, and her sweet face grew pale.

He took her hand.

“Neria, where are the words that I should say to you? How can I hope to
tell you the reverence and love that has become my life? How dare I ask God
to give to me, alone, the pure angel whom he has vouchsafed to mankind?
You have so little of earth, dear Neria, that I cannot ask you to mate yourself
with me, who, alas, am all of earth; but, sweet, if I may wear you on my heart as
a blessed amulet, if I may stand between the world and you, and you shall stand
between Heaven and me—if I may help you to make others happy, and you will
help me to mend much that is amiss in my own life—Neria, if you will be the
angel in my house and in my heart, then can I ask no more of Heaven than to
give me life and grace to show continually how I prize its gift.”

The sweet content of the spring-morning changed on Neria's face to doubt
and alarm.

“Sieur, I have not thought of this,” said she, simply.

“Think of it, now, dear child.

“I cannot. I must disarrange all the habit of my thought to place you in the
position of—”

“Of a lover, you would say. I feared it would be so, dear. I am too far
away from you—in years, in experience, in the circle of life—for you to find my
love other than oppressive and unwelcome,” said Vaughn, sadly.

“No, not that, Sieur, but it is so new. May I think about it a little, before
I say any more?”

“Surely, dear, as long as you will, but you may not try to force upon your
heart the belief that you can return this love of mine, and so offer yourself a
sacrifice upon the altar of self-devotion. If you cannot give yourself to me
frankly and fully, Neria, tell me so at once, and we will forget all this, and you
shall be again to me a daughter, a trust; something to be loved, and guarded, and
reverenced, as Arthur's knights guarded the San Grail, though no man among
them dared lay finger upon it.”

He turned his horse's head while he spoke, and they rode slowly home.

It was that very evening, as Vaughn sat alone in the twilight of the deserted

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drawing-room, that the faint perfume always enveloping Neria, suddenly floated
around his head, although he had heard no step, and a slender hand crept within
his own.

He looked up. Through the shadow of the twilight a fair face shone down
upon him, saint-wise.

“Is it my angel, or the angel of mankind?” asked he, softly.

“O, Sieur, do not call me an angel; I am so weak, so ignorant! But if it is
true that I can help you a little, let me do it in your own way.”

It was not the loving confession he would have liked to hear, but it was acceptance;
and the heart of the man was stirred as with strong wine, while for
the first time he took his bride in his arms, and reverently kissed her lips.