the younger people had passed out of sight. but from the rear of the hedge came to the duke and lord brudenel, staring blankly at each other across the paper-littered table, a sort of duet. first tenor, then contralto, then tenor again,—and so on, with many long intervals of silence, during which you heard the plashing of the fountain, grown doubly audible, and, it might be, the sharp, plaintive cry of a bird intensified by the stillness.

"i think it is a dream," said marian….

"what eyes you have, marian!"

"but you have not kissed the littlest finger of all. see, it is quite stiff with indignation."

"they are green, and brown, and yellow—o marian, there are little gold specks in them like those in eau de dantzig! they are quite wonderful eyes, marian. and your hair is all streaky gold-and-brown. you should not have two colors in your hair, marian. marian, did any one ever tell you that you are very beautiful?"

silence. "pee-weet!" said a bird. "tweet?"

and marian replied: "i am devoted to dorothy, of course, but i have never admired her fashion of making advances to every man she meets. yes, she does."

"nay, 'twas only her money that lured me, to do her justice. it appeared so very sensible to marry an heiress…. but how can any man be sensible so long as he is haunted by the memory of your eyes? for see how bright they are,—see, here in the water. two stars have fallen into the fountain, marian."

"you are handsomer so. your nose is too short, but here in the fountain you are quite handsome—"

"marian,—"

"i wonder how many other women's fingers you have kissed—like that. ah, don't tell me, humphrey! humphrey, promise me that you will always lie to me when i ask you about those other women. lie to me, my dear, and i will know that you are lying and love you all the better for it…. you should not have told me about dorothy. how often did you kiss all of dorothy's finger-tips one by one, in just that foolish, dear way?"

"but who was this dorothy you speak of, marian? i have forgotten. oh, yes—we quarrelled—over some woman,—and i went away. i left you for a mere heiress, marian. you! and five days, ago while i lay abed, wounded, they told me that you, were to marry ormskirk. i thought i would go mad…. eh, i remember now. but what do these things matter? is it not of far greater importance that the sunlight turns your hair to pure topaz?"

"ah, my hair, my eyes! is it these you care for? you would not love me, then, if i were old and ugly?"

"eh,—i love you."

"animal!"

there was a longer silence now. "tweet!" said a bird, pertly.

then marian said, "let us go to my father."

"to tell him—?"

"why, that i love you, i suppose, and that i cannot marry jack, not even to be a duchess. oh, i did so much want to be a duchess! but when you came back to me yonder in the forest, somehow i stopped wanting anything more. something—i hardly know—something seemed to say, as you came striding through the dead leaves, laughing and so very pale,—something seemed to say, 'you love him'—oh, quite audibly."

"audibly! why, the woods whispered it, the birds trilled it, screamed it, the very leaves underfoot crackled assent. only they said, 'you love her—the girl yonder with glad, frightened eyes, spring's daughter.' oh, i too, heard it, marian! 'follow,' the birds sang, 'follow, follow, follow, for yonder is the heart's desire!"

the duke of ormskirk raised his head, his lips sketching a whistle. "ah! ah!" he muttered. "eureka! i have recaptured it—the message of april."