"You can't tell him what you have heard," it said. "He would be humiliated. Or"--the thought was sharp as a gimlet--"what if he _saw_ you, and knew you were listening? What if he talked just for effect? He is so clever! He is subtle enough for that. And wouldn't it be more _like_ the man, than to say what he said _sincerely_?" She stopped, and was thankful not to see her husband returning. There was time to go back if she hurried. And she must hurry! If he had seen her in her hammock, and made that theatrical attempt to play upon her feelings, he would laugh at his own success if she followed him. And if he had not seen her, and were in earnest, it would be best--indeed the only right way--not to let him guess that the scene on the veranda steps had had a witness. Annesley turned to fly back faster than she had come. But passing the cactus hedge her dress caught. It was as if the hedge sentiently took hold of her. She bent down to free the thin white material; and suddenly colour blazed up to her eyes in the rain of silver moonlight. The buds had opened since she noticed them last. No longer was the hedge a grim barricade of stiff, dark sticks. Each stalk had turned into a tall, straight flame of lambent rose. From a dead thing of dreary ugliness it had become a thing of living beauty. Knight's allegory! He had said, perhaps she might understand when the time came; and perhaps not. She _did_ understand. But she had not faith to believe that the miracle could repeat itself in life--her life and Knight's. She shut her eyes to the thought, and when she had freed her dress ran very fast to the house. CHAPTER XXVI THE THREE WORDS Knight was generally far away long before Annesley was up in the morning, and often he did not come in till evening. She thought that on Easter Day, however, he would perhaps not go far. She half expected that he would linger about the house or sit reading on the veranda; and she could not resist the temptation to put on one of the dresses he had liked in England. It was a little _passe_ and old-fashioned, but he would not know this. What he might remember was that she had worn it at Valley House. And the wish to say something, as if accidentally, about the flaming miracle of the cactus hedge was as persistent in her heart as the desire of a crocus to push through the earth to the sunshine on a spring morning. She did not know whether the wish would survive the meeting with her husband. She thought that would depend as much upon him as upon her mood. But luncheon time came and Knight did not appear. Annesley lunched alone, in her gray frock. Even on days when Knight was with her, and they sat through their meals formally, it was the same as if she were alone, for they spoke little, and each was in the habit of bringing a book to the table.