During most of the month of August the rain fell heavily and outdoor excursions became rare events, and the world as seen from windows was a gray and dripping spectacle. But Stella, accustomed to the vast dreariness of wintry seas, found fresh beauties in the rain-swept earth. The patter of drops on leaves played new and thrilling melodies; a slant of sunshine across wet grass offered magical harmonies of colour; the unfamiliar smell of the reeking soil was grateful to her nostrils. And had she not the captivating indoor life among pleasant rooms in which she had hitherto dwelt only in fancy? Hopes in the process of fulfilment gilded the glad days. She talked unceasingly to those about her of the happy things to come. “Soon we 'll be teaching you to walk,” said John. She glowed. “That's going to be the most glorious adventure of my life.” “I 've never regarded putting one foot before another in that light,” he said with a laugh. Then suddenly realizing what he had said, he felt a wave of pity and love surge through his heart. What child of man assured of a bird's power of flight would not be thrilled at the prospect of winging his way through space? It would be indeed a glorious adventure. “My poor darling!” said he, very tenderly. As usual, she disclaimed the pity. There was no one happier than herself in the wide universe. “But I often have wondered what it would feel like.” “To walk?” “Yes. To have the power of moving yourself from one place to another. It seems so funny. Of course I did walk once, but I've forgotten all about it. They tell me I shall have to learn from the beginning, just like a little baby.” “You 'll have to learn lots of things from the beginning,” said John, rather sadly. “What kind of things?” “All sorts.” “Tell me,” she insisted, for ever so small a cloud passed over his face. “Taking your place as a woman in the whirl of life,” said he. She turned on him the look of untroubled sapience that proceeds from the eyes of child saints in early Italian paintings. “I don't think that will be very difficult, Belovedest. I'm not quite a little ignoramus, and Aunt Julia has taught me manners. I have always been able to talk to people when sick, and I don't see why I should be afraid of them when I'm well. I 've thought quite a lot about it, and talked to Aunt Julia.” “And what does she say?” “She assures me,” she cried gaily, “that I am bound to make a sensation in society.” “You 'll have all mankind at your feet, dear,” said John. “But,” he added in a change of tone, “I was referring to more vital things than success in drawing-rooms.” She laid her hand lightly on his.. “Do you know, Belovedest, what Walter said some time ago? He said that if I looked at the world and saw God through it, all would be well.” “I can add nothing more to that,” said John, and, thinking that Herold had been warning her of dangers, held his peace for the occasion.