He reached an edge of the garden where a thread-like stream trickled under a bank of periwinkle, phlox, and ivy, and on through a little wood of cedars. The air was cool beneath the trees, and Rand raised his forehead to the blowing wind. The narrow pathway turned, and he came upon Deb and Miranda seated upon the bare, red earth and playing with flower dolls. Deb had before her a parade of morning-glories, purple and white, pink and blue, while Miranda sat in a ring of marigolds and red columbines. Each was slowly swaying to and fro, murmuring to herself, and manipulating with small, darting fingers her rainbow throng of ladies. Rand, unseen, watched the manoeuvres for a while, then coughed to let them know he was there, and presently sat down upon a root of cedar, and gave Deb his opinion of the flower people. Children and he were always at their ease together. "Hollyhocks make the finest ladies," he announced gravely. "Little Miss Randolph puts snapdragon caps upon them and gives them scarfs of ribbon grass." "Hollyhocks are not in bloom," said Deb. "I use snapdragon for caps, too.--Now she has on a red and gold cap. This is a currant-leaf shawl." "Do you name them?" asked Rand, poising a columbine upon the back of his hand. "Of course," answered Deb. "All people have names. That is Sapphira." Miranda advanced a flourishing zinnia. "Dishyer Miss Keren-Happuch--Marse Job's daughter." Deb regarded with shining eyes a pale blue morning-glory with a little cap of white. "This is Ruth--I love her! The dark one is Hagar--she was dark, you know--and those two are Rachel and Leah." "Ol' Miss Babylon!" said Miranda succinctly, and put forth a many-petalled red lady. "Babylon, Babylon, Red an' sinnin' Babylon, Wash her han's in Jordan flood, Still she's sinnin' Babylon!" "And, these three?" asked Rand. "Faith, Hope, and Charity," answered Deb. "Faith is blue, Hope is pink, and that white one is Charity." "She has a purple edge to her gown." "Yes," said Deb, "and I am going to give her a crown, 'for the greatest of these is Charity!' That yellow lily is the Shulamite. Miranda and I are going now to gather more ladies." She looked at Rand with large child's eyes. "If you want somebody to talk to, my sister Jacqueline is reading over there in the summer-house." The blood rushed to Rand's face. His heart beat so loud and fast that it stifled a voice within him. He did not even hear the voice. He rose at once, turned, and took the path that Deb's brown finger indicated. Had he been another man, had he been, perhaps, Ludwell Cary, he might not have gone. But he was Lewis Rand, the product and effect of causes inherited and self-planted, and his passion, rising suddenly, mastered him with a giant's grip. The only voice that he heard was the giant's urgent cry, and he went without protest.