"They walk humbly after the men, in that rôle, Harry. Drive a mile up the road; then, as we return, we can pass Mr. Van Hoosen's house. If Yanna is at home, I shall see it, or know it, or feel it; and that fellow will doubtless have been left outside somewhere." "That fellow," however, with Yanna at his side, was on the doorstep to welcome Harry and Rose. He lifted Rose like a feather-weight from the dog-cart, and he was ready with outstretched hand, when Yanna said, "This is my brother Antony." The "brothership" was such a relief to Harry that it made him most unusually friendly and gay-tempered; and Rose readily adopted the same tone. They sat down on the piazza, behind the flowering honeysuckles, and amid broken little laughs and exclamations, grew sweetly, and yet a little proudly, familiar. After a short time, however, Rose said she "wanted to speak to Yanna very particularly." Then the girls went into the parlor; and the two young men lit their cigars, and walked through the garden to smoke, and to find Peter; but both, moved by the same impulse, made the same involuntary pause before the open window at which Rose and Yanna sat. Their faces were eager and serious, their hands dropped, their attitudes had the perfect grace of nature; they were beautiful, and the more so because they were unconscious of it. Rose was just saying to Yanna, as Harry and Antony glanced at them: "Dick has written again to me, Yanna. I had a letter from him this morning." "Is he not impertinent?" "He is anxious and miserable. I fear I shall have to see him." "If you fear it, you certainly ought not to see him." "He says he is coming to Woodsome. Yanna, why did you never tell me about this wonderful brother of yours?" "I have not seen him since I was a little girl. I did not expect ever to see him again. His coming was a perfect surprise." "He is strikingly handsome." "He is not handsome at all, Rose." "He is handsome. I have never seen any one more handsome. He is like an antique man." "Quite the contrary, he is the very incarnation of the New World. His loose garments, his easy swing, his air of liberty, all speak of the vast unplanted plains beyond civilization." "_Pshaw!_ I look deeper than you do. He is a man that could love a woman unto death. Is that not antique? He has a heart that would never fail her in any hour. You might tell him a secret, and know that fire could not burn it out of him. If you were at death's door, he would die for you. I have a great mind to fall in love with him." "Not so, Rose. He is not of your world; and you would be wretched in his world. He is thinking of a girl in the village. You have described an ideal Antony. How, indeed, could you find out so much in twenty or thirty minutes?" "The soul sees straight and swift." "But you do not see with your soul, Rose."