“And he came,” they said, “and we knew him. He had looked at the water, he had looked at the meadows, he had looked at us, but none of us were what he looked for. He looked for one, for one, for the one,” and their branches clashed together. Jeannie, in her seat where her hat had lain as Miss Fortescue made tea, gave a great sigh, and this filled her lungs with the living air. “I did not know,” she answered. “How should I have known?” “The way of a man with a maid,” said the grass. “Oh, I have seen often in summer evenings----” “Yes, and we have seen,” said a hundred leaves of the brambles. “You have no idea of their folly. They sail little boats of straw or leaves, and wonder which will win. But for me, I always let the maid’s boat win. I do not care so much for the young men.” “But I care, I care,” said the river. “The young men bathe in me, and with strong arms, and laughing, they deride my waves, or from the top of high ladders they throw themselves headlong to meet me. But I love them, and loving them I do not suffer them to touch the ooze of the bed, but bear them gently up, and they know not it was I, but say to each other, ‘That was a good header!’” But the elms answered softly: “Both I love, the man and the maid, for both sit by me, and tell their love. And the spell of the woodland and the country is in their blood, though they know it not--for who can make love in towns?--and it is I who bring them together. Even now he comes, he comes, he comes--” and a louder blast swept through them. Jeannie heard and understood. “He comes,” she said softly to herself. “I knew he would come.” And round the corner of the garden of the mill he came. Toby gave a tentative growl to the intruder, in case he should prove unwelcome; but the growl had not ceased vibrating in his throat, and Jeannie had not time to correct him, when he recognised, and ran to meet Jack, muzzling a wet nose into his hand. He spoke to the dog in his low, soft voice, but he had no word seemingly for Jeannie, nor she for him, and in silence he sat down on the grass beside her. But on neither side was there embarrassment in that pause, but each drank deep of the other’s presence. Jeannie looked at him with wide-open eyes, and he at her. At length he gave a long sigh. “You, it is you,” he said simply. Jeannie smiled at him. The great good pause was over. “How did you know I should be here?” she asked. “How could it have been otherwise? It was part of the whole plan.” “What plan?” asked she, and her heart told her. “The plan of you and me. The great plan,” he said; “God’s plan for us.” She leaned forward toward him. “Oh, Jack,” she said, “it is so? Is it indeed so?” And he bent his face to hers, and the plan was sealed, and the stream and the trees and meadows were the witnesses thereof.