Most girls of her class would
hardly have got so far.
The summer was backward, but the day had been fine and warm, and
the evening was dewy and soft, and full of evasive odor. The
window looked westward, and the setting sun threw long shadows
toward the house. A gentle wind was moving in the tree-tops. The
spirit of the evening had laid hold of Mary. The peace of
faithfulness filled the air. The day's business vanished, molten
in the rest of the coming night. Even Hesper's wedding-dress was
gone from her thoughts. She was in her own world, and ready, for
very, quietness of spirit, to go to sleep. But she had not
forgotten the delight of Hesper's presence; it was only that all
relation between them was gone except such as was purely human.
"This reminds me so of some beautiful verses of Henry Vaughan!"
she said, half dreamily.
"What do they say?" drawled Hesper.
Mary repeated as follows:
"'The frosts are past, the storms are gone,
And backward life at last comes on.
And here in dust and dirt, O here,
The Lilies of His love appear!'"
"Whose did you say the lines were?" asked Hesper, with merest
automatic response.
"Henry Vaughan's," answered Mary, with a little spiritual shiver
as of one who had dropped a pearl in the miry way.
"I never heard of him," rejoined Hesper, with entire
indifference.
For anything she knew, he might be an occasional writer in "The
Belgrave Magazine," or "The Fireside Herald.
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