As they ascended the steps,—the three, shallow, wide steps to Wild Acres’ home-promising door,—Hugh was shy of Ariel. He longed that she should turn her face, look at him, speak to him. But Ariel was afraid of Hugh. She had said too much. She had said everything there ever would be to say, with her eyes, when she looked up from those heads of the dark dream-children, and found his dark eyes—so like, so terribly like—on hers. Besides, here was the aquamarine on her finger, clear in the moonlight. And before she gave herself to Hugh, Grandam, her beloved friend, was to die. Things must come in their order. If she raised a hand, if she breathed too deeply, something might be shaken out of God’s beautiful intended order for it. All life—and birth and death—was so delicately balanced, it seemed, here, in one girl’s heart! Hugh had his latchkey in the lock. But the door was not opening. Surprised at that, Ariel did turn and look up at him. She stepped back—suddenly—away from what she saw. But he followed and took her into his arms. She leaned back against his arms, held herself back and away from his body, but her face remained lifted to his. By moonlight he saw that it was as expressionless as when she had danced, expressionless as the face of a flower is expressionless—to mortal eyes—and strangely silver, bent back this way against his dark coat sleeve. But although she was leaning back and away from him, he felt no weight on his arm. Her body was held with the dancer’s self-sustaining poise. Then he knew what he had only believed before: she was the eternal dancer, but not to music. Hers was the dance to life. His beloved’s whole genius was for living. Gently, he drew the poised, free body toward him. There was no blindness of engulfing passion here, only two wills, free as day, rushing fleetly upon one another. No red flames roared against a dark mind-misery. Only sunrise breaking about the whole circle of his soul’s horizon. Heaven’s dawn. Grandam saw their faces and bodies radiant with that dawn when they came into her room. “So it is here in time for me to see, and to be happy with you! But just in time!” she told them with a quick breath. Rose, who had stayed with Grandam until Ariel’s return, had left; and now that she was gone, Ariel ran forward and dropped on her knees by the low bed, and kissed Grandam on the lips. Sunrises, kisses. Hugh sat on the other side of the bed, and to-night Grandam did not make him get up and bring a chair. Instead she gave him one of her hands to hold. “How did you know, Grandam?” he asked. “I never told you we were in love. Did Ariel?” “Neither of you told me. And I only hoped. I thank God you’ve got home in time to make me sure. Ariel! If your messenger should be off to-night, what message shall she take your father? Make it exact, and I’ll impress it on my memory. If only one could take a letter!”