X Smile, sweet baby, smile, For you will have weeping-while; Native in your Heaven is smile,— But your weeping, Viola? Whence your smiles, we know, but ah! When your weeping, Viola? Our first gift to you is a Gift of tears, my Viola! When the musical flow of his voice had ended, they had advanced many paces further on the path they were treading together, but its end was not yet known to either of them. Viola’s cheeks were rose-flushed and her eyes were shining. There was silence for a time as they looked at one another, and love flew to and fro between them unhampered in his flight but hidden from them. Viola breathed a deep sigh, as she drew her eyes away from his, half unwillingly. "It’s lovely," she said. "I didn’t know how lovely it was till you said it. I’m glad I’ve got the most beautiful name in the world." "And the most beautiful eyes in the world," he said. "I never knew that there was anything half so beautiful as you, though I have always loved the beautiful things in the world. I used to wonder what they meant, and a year ago I thought I had found out. But now I know that I only knew half of it." "Tell me," she said. "What did you find out a year ago?" He told her of his moonlight vigil, which he had never thought to tell any one, and the vision that had come to him at the end of it. Again she listened to him, fascinated, with her eyes on his and her lips apart. But as he drew to the end of his story her face grew a little troubled. "I should never have seen that," she said when he had finished. "We might have seen it together if you had been there," he said. "There is no secret I could see that you couldn’t see." "No," she said, rather sadly. "You have always lived in this beautiful place, and you have seen nothing that isn’t beautiful—all your life. Of course you could see that, because there was nothing to get in the way. But it isn’t at all beautiful where I live. I have seen so many ugly things all round me." "It must always be beautiful where you live—Viola." He spoke her name caressingly. It was the first time he had uttered it, except impersonally, and it made a new sweet contact between them. She smiled at him. "Perhaps if you love beautiful things, and think about them," she said, "it doesn’t so much matter if you can’t always have them about you. Do you think I could really see the fairies, if I were with you?" He thought for a moment, with a slight frown on his face, which made the words that should come out of his thought of great importance to her. It was not in him to say something just to please her. The lightest thing that he might say to her would come from the depths of the unspoilt spirit that was in him.