This is that and not that. It is the wilderness of lovely
flowers--hardly quite the music of the spheres! It is not the mountain
height, but the waving, leafy, lower slopes--and yet we pass on to the
height by those slopes! Are you in love, Alexander?"
"You guess so much!" he said. "You have guessed that, too. I do not
care! I am glad that the sun shines through me."
"You must be happy in your love! Who is she?"
"Elspeth Barrow, the granddaughter of Jarvis Barrow of White Farm....
You say that I must be happy in my love. The Lord of Heaven knows that
I am! and yet she is not yet sure that she loves me in her turn. One
might say that I had great uncertainty of bliss. But I love so
strongly that I have no strength of disbelief in me!"
"Elspeth Barrow!"
"My old friend--the unworldliest, the better-worldliest soul I
know--do not you join in that hue and cry about world's gear and
position! To be Barrow is as good as to be Jardine. Elspeth is
Elspeth."
"Oh, I know why I made exclamation! Just the old, dull earthy
surprise! Wait for me a moment, Alexander." She put her hands before
her eyes, then, dropping them, sat with her gaze upon the great tree
shot through with light from the clearing sky. "I see her now. At
first I could not disentangle her and Gilian, for they were always
together. I have not seen them often--just three or four times to
remember, perhaps.
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