She lifted her superb arms, showing bare to the elbow, and felt of the mass of auburn hair. "That load of red hay about to fall?" "Don't be sacrilegious. No." "Harness broken anywhere?" She felt of her belt, and ran her hands down the lines of her beautiful figure, eyeing him laughingly. "I'll tell you," he said, sinking his voice to its lowest note of expressive feeling, while a whimsical smile played round the corners of his eyes. "Sitting here in the woods by your side on this glorious summer day, your eyes looked so blue in the creamy satin of your face, I suddenly thought I smelled the violets with which God mixed their colours." "You think of such silly things," she said with mock severity. "There's nothing silly about it. Beauty is an attribute of the divine. I worship it for its own sweet sake wherever I find it, in pearl or opal, dewdrop or flower, the stars, or a woman's face or form or eyes." She lowered her head. "Do you know the old legend of the opal?" he asked. He took some stones from his pocket and held in the light an opal of rare luster. "Isn't it beautiful?" she cried. "And its story is as beautiful as its face. Listen: A sunbeam lingered under a leaf in the forest at sunset, loath to leave so fair a spot, until the moon suddenly rose. Enraptured with the shimmering beauty of a moonbeam, he stood entranced and trembling and could not go. In ecstasy they met, embraced and kissed. The sun sank and left him in her arms. The opal is the child of their love. In its fair face is forever mingled the silver of the rising moon and the golden glory of the sunset." "I believe you made that up," she laughed. "I wish I were poet enough." "I had no idea you dreamed of such romantic nonsense." "Yes, I dream many things. I had a funny dream about you the other night." "Tell me what it was," she begged. "I dare not." "I thought you would dare anything." "No; you see, dreams are such intimate, unconventional mysteries. Dreams have no regard for law or custom The soul and the body seem equally free and without sin or shame. I have a curious feeling of awe about sleep and dreams. It's the surest evidence I have of immortality and the reality of a spiritual life. It is to me the prophecy of the ideal world, too, in which we will dare to live some day what we really are, without pretence or hypocrisy--live that deep secret inner life we try sometimes to hide from the eye of God." "And you will not even give me a hint of this dream?" "No. It was very foolish, but very charming and beautiful. It was in part a picture from that dream which made me laugh awhile ago about your eyes." "I think it mean in you to tell me that much and no more." "I would tell you if I dared. I may dare some day." She was afraid to ask him after that, and yet something within cried for joy.