Thus, to a great extent, must it be with Phyllida. At the birth of her love for me she had broken most of the bonds--broken them unwittingly: for to-day she was unaware of her freedom, fancying that the past still held her and that she had sinned against fidelity. I knew otherwise; the few films of gossamer that remained would soon disappear and leave her entirely mine. Yet was I depressed; and when, after her entreaties had wrung the promise from me, and she had begun to return to Colmer alone, I took her seat and followed with my eyes, as with a step uncertain and often lingering, she threaded the intricacies of the wood. When she had disappeared I prepared for a disinterment of memories. The aromatic scent of the resin, as it oozed from the heated bark, overburdened the air. In a distant glade the light played so daintily that I amused myself by picturing seraphim sliding down the beams. I moved there and rested amongst sun-stricken trees, whose perfect silhouettes fretted the ground. A ripe-berried mountain-ash grew near--how it came in a fir-wood I cannot imagine--and a culver, undisturbed by my silent presence flew to the key-twig and perched there crooning, until the leaves shook, and then all the boughs, and finally the trunk itself. Had I been prophetic in my early writings? Had I suffered in the anguish I felt when writing the last chapter of _Hope Deferred_ (in which Mary Blakesmoor loses her wifely love and becomes self-concentrated) a foretaste of my own doom?... Moreover in _Alnaschar’s Bride_ the fairest hopes were blasted.... But Phyllida was different--was stronger and purer than any of these visioned heroines; and surely I had a firmer purpose than their lovers? Nay, as much as she excelled the women in beauty, I excelled the men in strength of will. I would not be thwarted. Who grapples with fortune conquers, and I would conquer! What folly ramping in my brain made me imagine that such puppets could resemble my living wife! I began to accuse myself of faithlessness, and grew desirous beyond endurance to touch her hands. How slowly the afternoon faded! The day had been too fine for a gorgeous sky, so the sun, contented with his work, descended quietly into the tops of the distant trees, shook himself there for awhile, and then sank out of sight, leaving the clouds stained bright yellow. Soon after his departure a grey curtain crept up to the zenith, and blotted out the few stars that had already appeared. I rose, determined to return to Colmer at a snail’s pace. If I walked speedily I should reach the house before the time Phyllida had appointed: I might disturb her in the act of conquering her last few remembrances, and cause the past to rise drossily. My sadness left me, and I grew happy once more. As I loitered I drew one by one from my vest the withered poppies, and detaching the petals, let one fall at every step, giving to each flower a verse from some ancient ballad.