Just then I heard my wife singing as she mounted the stairs, and we broke off our conversation. I put on a cheerful look; and when she saw me she came bounding up, with lighted eyes and outstretched hands, her face brilliant with a smile. Mrs. Williams had left the landing before Geraldine reached me; and for my part, I appeared in the act of descending. She caught my hand and kissed it, a frequent action with her, but she did it with an exquisite grace, as one would do who had learnt her attitudes from nature. She had a little story to tell me; how, deep in the shadows of the orchard, she had been watching a green and purple insect crawl from a hole in a tree to a stone, under which it vanished; and when she turned the stone over with a stick a thousand strange things wriggled away. "It taught me something! it taught me something!" she cried. I asked her what. "I said to myself," she answered gravely, "that green and purple insect is a lie, and I who follow it am the world; for its colours please me and I can't help pursuing it. And the stone it has crept under is corruption, where a thousand other falsehoods, some pretty and some very ugly, lie hid; and when I turn it over, I am like a reformer, who floods corruption with the blaze of heaven, and all the foul things rush from the light of truth. Is not that pretty, Arthur?" "Yes, dearest; but do you know what your little fable typifies?" "What?" "The Reformation. You were Luther, the stone was Rome, the wriggling insects the priests." "No, no! There never was a Reformation; there was a wicked schism." "Well, don't let us argue," I said, with a cheerless laugh. She had descended the stairs with me, forgetting the purpose for which she had mounted them. The harshness of my laugh struck her. "What is the matter, Arthur?" "Nothing, darling." "You do not look as you used. You look frightened." "Of what should I be frightened?" "You are; your eyes are scared. Now am I not sharp, to read your face so quickly? Oh, but I know every line in it! I can see the slightest shadow pass over it. It lies quite transparent. It is like the water in the marble basin. I was watching the water not long ago. I saw the tiniest bird, mirrored deep, deep down. Do you know, Arthur, I sometimes think I could fly? I feel so light--so light--I am sure I should only have to put out my arms to rise." "You would become an angel before your time, Geraldine." "But I would never fly away from you, Arthur." "I hope not, for I don't know how I should be able to pursue you." She laughed. I passed my arm through hers, and we entered the garden. CHAPTER VIII.