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 the stress and struggle of life. In the tree above them the mulberries were ripening gor- geously. When he was not admiring the be- witching red of Andromeda’s lips, or the wondrous glow of her eyes, he was counting in an aimless manner the rich fruit of the nearest branch. Indeed, he was conscious of doing many things, thinking many thoughts, which bore no relation to the one thought that in reality had absolute possession of him.

“Oh,” he said, “but this is beyond all things beautiful.”

“You are not sorry that you found me?”

’ Her eyes were shining into his, and for an- swer he drew her closer to him and kissed the heavy, lovely lids. She caught his hand and pressed it passionately to her lips.

“T love you, Perseus!”

Somewhere a bird was fluting in the dis- tance. He heard it with a reeling brain and wondered if it was singing to its mate. Truly his soul was singing to her, singing the wildest, strangest, most beautiful song that ears had ever heard.

She laughed a low, thrilling, happy laugh as she seized a strawberry and began to prepare