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 stream. Mark seemed pausing to watch the oars silvered by the light, and their reflections wavy with the current. Moor, seen in shadow, leaned upon his hand, as if watching Sylvia, a quiet figure, full of grace and color, couched under the green arch. On either hand the summer woods made vernal gloom, behind the cliffs rose sharply up against the blue, and all before wound a shining road, along which the boat seemed floating like a bird on slender wings between two skies.

So long she lay forgetful of herself and all about her, that Moor saw she needed rest, for the breath fluttered on her lips, the flowers had fallen one by one, and her face wore the weary yet happy look of some patient child waiting for its lullaby.

"Dear, you have talked enough; let me take you up now, lest the pleasant day be spoiled by a sleepless night."

"I am ready, yet I love to stay among you all, for in my sleep I seem to drift so far away I never quite come back. Good night, good night; I shall see you in the morning."

With a smile, a kiss for all, they saw her fold her arms about her husband's neck, and lay down her head as if she never cared to lift it up again. The little journey was both a pleasure and pain to them, for each night the way seemed longer to Sylvia, and though the burden lightened the bearer grew more heavy-hearted. It was a silent passage now, for neither spoke, except when one asked tenderly, "Are you easy, love?" and the other answered, with a breath that chilled his cheek, "Quite happy, quite content."

So, cradled on the heart that loved her best, Sylvia was gently carried to the end of her short pilgrimage, and when her husband laid her down the morning had already dawned.