"Yes!" said I. "Yes! It is in such places that angels walk." "Angels, Peregrine?" "Great and noble thoughts, Diana. These are truly God's angels, I think, since they are the inspiration to all great and good works." "It is in the silent places I am happiest, Peregrine." "Because you have a soul, thank God!" "What do you mean by a 'soul,' Peregrine?" "I mean that part of us which cannot perish because it is part of God Himself. I mean that part of us whereby, in spite of this fleshly body, we may rise above fleshly desires and gain some perception of the Infinite Truth--which is God. Do you understand, Diana?" "No, I'm afraid I don't," she answered wistfully, "but you won't lose patience wi' me, Peregrine?" "Never, Diana. How could I when I don't understand myself. Who does? The wisest philosophers of all ages have been puzzling over their souls and never understood the wonder of it. Who shall describe the soul and its ultimate end?" "Well," said she diffidently, "there's Jerry Jarvis--" "What, the Tinker?" I exclaimed. "Yes. He made a verse about the soul--I mean this one-- "'And when my time shall come to die I care not where my flesh may lie Because I know my soul shall fly Back to the stars!'" "Ah, yes, the stars!" said I, lifting my gaze to the spangled firmament above us. "This is a great thought--who knows?" And presently as we went on together, hand in hand, came night very still and silent and full of a splendour of stars that made a soft twilight about us, very wonderful to behold. "Now, why do that?" I demanded suddenly, for she had slipped her hand from mine. "Because!" she retorted. "Because of what?" "Just because!" "Does it impede you to hold my hand?" "Of course not." "My hand is neither unpleasantly clammy nor particularly dirty, is it?" "No, Peregrine." "Then why not hold it?" "Because!" "Upon my word!" I exclaimed, "you are very provoking!" "Am I, Peregrine?" "Extremely so! Why won't you hold my hand? And pray answer intelligibly." "Because I don't want to!" "Oh, very well!" said I, greatly huffed. "Then you shall decline the verb 'To be' instead." "I do, Peregrine." "Do what?" "Decline any more of your verbs." "Ha, then you don't wish to learn--?" "I do, Peregrine, I do! But I'm sure I shall learn quicker if you'll let me try to talk like you; I've learned a bit already only you never notice--" "Oh, yes, I do--God in heaven!" I gasped, my heart leaping in sudden sickening dread. "What is that?" My flesh chilled with horror as from the gloomy depths of the wood upon our left rose a sound evil beyond description, an awful scuffling intermingled with gasps and sighs very terrible to hear. Spellbound by this dreadful, hushed clamour, I stood rigidly, staring into those dense shadows whence it came; then joyed to the warm, strong clasp of her fingers on mine and, in this awful moment, wondered to feel her hand so steady. "Are you afraid, Peregrine?" she whispered.