He shrugged his shoulders. "To me one Jehovah's as good as another, as unnecessary, and as incredible. I find it easier to believe that chaos hurtled around until it struck out some working balance; that the stars learned their places pretty much as men and women are learning theirs to-day. A painful process, I'll grant you, and damnably tedious; but they came to it in the end, and so in the end, maybe, will poor imitative man. But," he broke off, "this faith of yours must have failed you, once." She shivered. "No; I made no claim on it, you see. Perhaps"--with a little smile--"I did not think myself important enough. I only know that, whatever was right, those men were horribly wrong: for it _must_ be wrong to be cruel. Then I woke up, and you were beside me--" She would have added, "How could I doubt, then?" But her voice failed her, and she wheeled about that he might not see her tears. He, too, turned his horse. They rode on for a few paces in silence. "I wish," she said, recovering her voice--"I wish, for your sake, you could have felt what I have been feeling since we left Sabines; the _goodness_ all about us, watching us out of the night and the stars." She looked up; but the stars were gone, faded out into daylight. He pushed his horse half a pace ahead, and glanced sideways at her face. Tears shone yet in her eyes, and his own, as he quickly averted them, fell on a tall mullein growing by the roadside. Big drops of dew adhered upon its woolly leaves and twinkled in the sunshine; and by contrast he knew the colour of her eyes--that they were violet and of the night--their dew distilled out of such violet darkness as had been the quality of one or two Mediterranean nights that lingered among his memories of the Grand Tour. More and more this girl surprised him with graces foreign to this colonial soil, graces supposed by him to be classical and lost, the appanage of goddesses. Like a goddess now she lifted an arm and pointed west, as he had pointed east. Ahead of them, to the right of the road, rose a tall hill, wooded at the base, broken at the summit by craggy terraces. Two large birds wheeled and hovered above it, high in the blue, fronting the sunlight. "Eagles, by Jove!" cried Sir Oliver. Ruth drew a breath and watched them. She had never before seen an eagle. "Will they have their nest in the cliffs?" she asked. "Perhaps. . . . No, more likely they come from Wachusett; more likely still, from the mountains beyond. They are here seeking food." "They do not appear to be seeking food," she said after a pause during which she watched their ambits of flight circling and intersecting "See the nearest one mounting, and the other lifting on a wider curve to meet him above. One would say they followed some pattern, like folks dancing."