"And it was not marriage either," she replied softly; "but what you mean has nothing to do with what is called love, with what is called marriage--that is what I mean too." He shook his head. "That is too fine for me, Aura! I want you. I am not satisfied without you." He was so close to her that he could lay his hand on hers. "S--sh!" she said swiftly, laying her other hand on his so as to detain it. "Listen!" Just below them, in a sheltered corrie, grew a great holly-tree covered with berries that glowed scarlet against the distant blue. On its topmost twig, with flaming breast yellowed by the exceeding brilliance of those blood-red berries, a robin had settled itself to sing. And it sang. Of what? Of the berries beneath its feet? Of its distant mate? Or out of the gladness of its heart of life because of the Beginning it did not remember, of the End it did not know? Who can say? but it sang. And as it sang those two sat hand in hand, forgetful even of what humanity calls love. Forgetful of all things except that they also were dreaming the Dream of Life. "Did I not say so?" she cried exultantly when the song had ceased. "Did I not tell you there was something better? You had forgotten me and I had forgotten you, yet we were happy." "Because we were hand-clasped," he answered swiftly, "because I touched you, and you touched me." She drew her hands away and a flush came to her face. "But don't you feel afraid--as I do? Don't you want to keep what you love apart--to keep it safe--even from yourself?" Did he not? Was it not only this which kept him back from taking her in his arms and kissing her to the knowledge of what a man's love must be. "Yes!" he said unsteadily, constrained to truth by hers. "But there is a love which does not stain. I'll give it you--if I can." She looked at him with a vain regret in her eyes. "You couldn't if we were married, and I couldn't anyhow. Ah no, Ned! It would spoil it all." "Spoil what?" he asked roughly, for he began to feel himself worsted for the time. "The something better," she replied gaily, "let us wait for that. I really don't want to marry you, Ned. I should hate it. I knew that when I saw your iris." "Then I wish I hadn't climbed up to put it on your window-sill and wricked my bad arm into the bargain," he said sullenly. Her face grew grave. "Did you climb up; that was very wrong." "Was it?" he replied shrugging his shoulders; "but I'm afraid I'm a very wrong person altogether. At the present moment I feel inclined to--to--but what is the use--you wouldn't understand. Aura! for the last time, will you marry me?" "No, Ned, I won't." "Then that ends it," he said recklessly. "So good-bye." She paled a little. "Must you go?" "One of us must," he replied, caught in fresh hope, "unless you change your mind." "That is impossible--but you will come back, won't you?" He looked at her full of impatience, yet full of tenderness.