"You mean"--said Diana, looking up, for she had sat down before the open window, and he stood by her side;--"you mean, he would not sing a false note?" "Nor God make a promise he would not fulfil. Come up-stairs." "But, Basil!--how could the bird's song be a promise from God?" "Think;--he gave the song, Diana. As has been said of visible things in nature, so it may be said of audible things,--every one of them is _the expression of a thought of God_." He did not wait for an answer, and Diana's mind was too full to give one. Up-stairs they went. The room over Diana's was arranged to be Mr. Masters' study; the other, above the kitchen, looked out upon a glorious view of the rich valley and its encompassing hills; both were exceedingly neat and pretty in their furniture and arrangements, in all of which Diana's comfort had been sedulously cared for. Her husband showed her the closet for her boxes, and opened the huge press prepared for her clothes; and taking off her bonnet, welcomed her tenderly home. But it seemed to Diana as if everything stifled her, and she would have liked to flee to the hills, like the wild creatures that had their home there. Her outward demeanour, for all that, was dignified and sweet. Whatever she felt, she would not give pain. "You are too good to me," she murmured. "I will be as good as I can, Basil, to you." "I know it," said he. "And I think I had better begin," she presently added more lightly, "by going down and seeing how Miss Collins and supper are getting on." "I daresay they will get on to some sort of consummation." "It will be a better consummation, if you let me go." Perhaps he divined something of her feeling, for he made no objection, and Diana escaped; with a sense that her only refuge was in action. To do something, no matter what, and stop thinking. Yet, when she went down-stairs, she went first to the back room and to the open window, to see if she could catch the note of the thrush once more. It came to her like a voice from the other world. He was still singing; somewhere up amid the cool shades of the hemlocks and oaks on the hill, from out the dusky twilight of their tops; sending his tremulous trills of triumph down the hillside, he was undoubtedly having a good time. Diana listened a minute, and then went to the kitchen. Miss Collins was standing in front of the fire contemplating it, or the kettle she had hung over it. "Where is Mr. Masters' supper?" Diana began. "Don't you take none?" was the rejoinder. "I mean, what can we have?" "You can have all there is. And there ain't nothin' in the house but what's no 'count. If I'd ha' knowed--honeymoon folks wants sun'thin' tip-top, been livin' on the fat o' the land, I expect; and now ye're come home to pork; and that's the hull on't." "Pork will do," said Diana, "if it is good. Have you no ham?" "Lots. That's pork, ain't it?" "Eggs?" "Yes, there's eggs." "Potatoes?" "La, I didn't expect ye'd want potatoes at this time o' day."