He felt:--I am disappearing. There is a silence like light Upon us. Moving like light a silence Upon words. There will be words moving in light: There will be lighted words.... _TWO_ RIVER GARDEN Spring ... a Southern city in song. A city drifting fading into the wide arms of earth, into trees, fields running under grass, into trees, into high thrusts of earth, into trees, trees. The city a raised shadow upon earth. Against earth’s sweep through the Precinct of suns and stars, apart from sun and stars--blotch of hard houses leaning back upon the dead days of their makers--whole city leaning back, falling away from the wide freedom of sun, earth, stars, twirling together locked. And they two ... man and girl ... clasped in the steadfast spin of life--sun stars earth dust--that swung away from the city. Fanny Dirk was on her back. Under: grass, roots thrusting up in erection, spilling in bud. Over: he. Under and over: One. She was viced in One: Grass, hair, fingers, twigs broken to leaf, lips and earth hot against her.... One. She was surrounded by One. She was beyond distinctions. She was One. She was in ecstasy.... Then they walked to their horses on the distant road. A house, coddling itself warm, despite bright elms, in its shadows of men, cast a grey finger up from the Town to the young man’s mind. His house ... running no longer away from the immobile dance of earth and sun ... reached up now, arrogant, clambered with its long harsh shadows into the mind and mood of his mother’s and father’s son. “Fanny!” --Harry, Harry.... O you ... you my life! “Fanny, now we must get married.” --Hush! I hate you. How can you speak so now? “Why are you silent, Fanny? I’m a gentleman, little girl. Don’t think I respect you less, because you love me.... I love you ... we....” --No respect, then! “ ...will be married. You are not less the lady.” --Stop, stop, stop! “Secretly, of course. Till I am done with College. Not so long, Honey. You can wait? We’ll have a real wedding, then.” --Can’t you stop? What are you killing? What are you killing? Can’t we stop? Fanny Dirk became the wife of Harry Howland Luve. * * * * * Mrs. Luve held her slender glass in frail spent fingers. She sipped. Her hot eyes swept above frail flesh, spun glass. --I want you to see me! I want you to see me! Mr. Samson nodded.--What else can I do? --Can you see this? I was as fresh and ruddy as a maple blossom!... She was hard, she was intact. Her husband took her to a little house on the best street: three squares away was the Luve Mansion which one day should be his. “This is our home. It’s small dear. But so are you small. We’ll live here till our love bursts it.”