"You know," said Elizabeth, "if anybody didn't know it was grandfather laughing to himself, they'd surely think it was owls in the roof." They sat for a while talking about foolish things like that, and then they too went upstairs. Through the open lattices of their room the perfume of the night-scented stocks came up from the garden. Edward saw with amazement that Elizabeth's hair reached almost to her feet, and he thought of his mother's remark yesterday. "That little red-haired girl!" Why, there never was such hair before. Too soon the moment came to put out the candle and lose those glinting locks. While the odor of the wick slowly faded upon the cool fragrance blown in upon them by the night, Edward lay with the last vision of Elizabeth upon his inner eye. Then turning he clasped her in his arms, and she with all her being leapt to his as a wave to the shore. There was no moon that night, but in every lattice a star or two twinkled, and in the starshine Elizabeth lay beside him like a warm shadow. "Are you happy, my darling?" "Very, very happy." Edward could not sleep. He did not want to sleep. He wished to stay forever like this, with her hair about his face. Dawn was on the panes, and the sparrows were stirring in the eaves. How still she lay, how fast she slept! He bent over to kiss her eyelids. She stirred slightly and put out her hand, clasping his and murmuring a faint endearment, an echo from her dreams. The first rays of the sun shone through upon the bed. Her lips in sleep were very crimson, and she woke up when he kissed them. "Are you happy, my darling?" "Very, very happy." They lay for a long while in each other's arms while the sun climbed higher, the bland five o'clock sun of June. "I must start farming to-day," Edward declared. "They'll be cutting the hay, I fancy." "While the sun shines," she whispered, smiling. "My lovely one, my lovely one," he breathed. * * * * *