But Barbara lingered in the full blaze of the sunshine, on the glittering, dew-encrusted lawn. And since love is ever selfish, the memory of Ralph’s trouble faded quickly in the glory and the triumph of her own sweet dream of love. For in reading Ralph’s heart she had learned at last to read her own. She knew now that God’s great gift was hers, that her heart had learned the world’s secret, and she loved with a love that crowned her life with glory. So her heart leapt out to the sunshine, and it seemed to her, as she stood thus, in the beauty of the garden, that all nature knew her joy; the wind whispered it to the trees, the birds sang it to the sunbeams, and the great deep-hearted roses, pouring forth their souls in a passionate sigh of fragrance, bowed their heads at her passing as to their queen, to whom was given all the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them, to whom was revealed all the beauty and the treasures and the wonders of the earth. For so is ever the first coming of love to a woman; loving, purified, one with all the world, she walks innocent as Eve in the garden of Eden, dreaming that God hath blessed her above all women, and that from thenceforth the purpose of her being is fulfilled. So Barbara dreamed away the time, in the glory of the sunshine, and the sweetness of her joy-crowned youth. Soon Cicely stepped from the deep shadow of the wide doorway, and came slowly down the garden, stopping ever and anon to gather one of the delicate roses, late-blossoming on the trees. And as she approached she eyed Barbara questioningly and smiled at her own thoughts. Presently she reached her cousin’s side, and then, as she stopped to free her skirt from an entangling branch, she began in careless, cheerful tone: "Oh, Barbara! Captain Protheroe prayed me to bid you adieu; he has gone." "Gone!" The sun had vanished from her sky; the glory of the world had faded. "Gone!" she cried again. "Left us? Whither should he go?" "To Watchet, to take ship to Holland, so he said; there to seek service with the Prince of Orange," answered Cicely casually, still gathering her flowers, still smiling to herself. "But, wherefore?" cried Barbara, in desperation. "Wherefore should he leave me thus, leave me without a word?" "Nay, the riddle is more than I can read. Yet from what he said, methought you yourself had bid him go." "I! Cis, what madness! What were his words?" "Why, marry, that Sir Ralph had told him his presence wearies you, and that you have declared that you are of one mind with Ralph in the matter." "Cicely!" she cried, a world of desperation in her tone; "sure, ’tis impossible." Yet even as she spoke she knew it to be true, for if Ralph had so misunderstood her words that morning, why might not others also? "Oh! Cis, what shall I do?" she questioned hopelessly. "’Tis all a mistake. I meant not—no, indeed, I meant not that he should leave us. What can I do?"