They walked on in silence for a moment or two. A dead leaf fell and drifted between them. The afternoon deepened into twilight.
"O, Jim, not the most beautiful!" said Frank, suddenly, thrilled and shaken with some wayward passion of gratitude, as acute as it was unheralded.
He looked down at her, puzzled.
"Oh, I'm glad, Jim; glad!" she cried, irrelevantly.
"Glad for what?"
"For this—for you—for everything!"
His face clouded a little, for a moment, with the shadow of the past that could and would not be altogether past.
"I thought we'd decided to let that—stay closed?" he said. There was a note of reproof in his voice.
"Do you know what I think is the most beautiful thing in all the world, Jim?" she went on, as irrelevantly as before, but holding his arm still more tightly entangled in hers. "I think it's Redemption!"
"Redemption?"