"Almost." "Listen. Isn't this like to-day?" "Spring's foot half falters; scarce she yet may know The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow; And through her bowers the wind's way still is clear." Rosemary got to her feet unsteadily. She went to the brow of the hill, on the side farthest from the vineyard, and stood facing the sunset. Scarcely knowing that she had moved, Alden read on: "But April's sun strikes down the glades to-day; So shut your eyes upturned, and feel my kiss----" [Sidenote: Alden Speaks] A smothered sob made him look up quickly. She stood with her back to him, but her shoulders were shaking. He dropped the book and went to her. A strange, new tenderness possessed him. "Rosemary," he whispered, slipping his arm around her. "What is it--dear?" "Nothing," she sobbed, trying to release herself. "I'm--I'm tired--and foolish--that's all. Please let me go!" Something within him stirred in answer to the girl's infinite hunger, to the unspoken appeal that vibrated through her voice. "No," he said, with quiet mastery, "I won't let you go. I want to take care of you, Rosemary. Leave all that misery and come to me, won't you?" Her eyes met his for an instant, then turned away. "I don't quite--understand," she said, with difficulty. "I'm asking you to marry me--to come to mother and me. We'll make the best of it together." Her eyes met his clearly now, but her face was pale and cold. She was openly incredulous and frightened. [Sidenote: Her Birthright] "I mean it, dear. Don't be afraid. Oh, Rosemary, can't you trust me?" "Trust you? Yes, a thousand times, yes!" He drew her closer. "And love me--a little?" "Love you?" The last light shone upon her face and the colour surged back in waves. She seemed exalted, transfigured, as by a radiance that shone from within. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. "Kiss me, won't you, dear?" And so, Rosemary came to her woman's birthright, in the shelter of a man's arms. V The House of the Broken Heart [Sidenote: Climbing in the Dark] The road was steep and very dark, but some unseen Power compelled her to climb. Dimly, through the shadow, she saw shafts of broken marbles and heard the sound of slow-falling waters. The desolation oppressed her, and, as she climbed, she pressed her hands tightly to her heart. She was alone in an empty world. All traces of human occupation had long since vanished. Brambles and thorns grew thickly about her, and her brown gingham dress was torn to shreds. Rosemary shuddered in her dream, for Grandmother and Aunt Matilda would be displeased. And yet, where were they? She had not seen them since she entered the darkness below. At first she had been unable to see anything, for the darkness was not merely absence of light but had a positive, palpable quality, it enshrouded her as by heavy folds of black velvet that suffocated her, but, as she climbed, the air became lighter and the darkness less.