"Yes, faith, it's quiet now, my dinky maid."
She sighed with satisfaction.
So they went up together, hand in hand, through the cool curtain of dusk; with fret of light and shadow all vanished for that day. They went up speaking very few words into the deepening bloom of night, while on the sky glimmered the stars again, and in the grass a glow-worm. From his stony place among the fern, churn-owl throbbed a lullaby for the whole, drowsy earth; and he touched their human hearts, old and young, with the mystery of his music—the mystery of all living songs that waken when the rest of the world is going to sleep. The two notes whirred on, rising and falling, fainting and trembling out again.
Then the white face of Huntingdon looked upon them.
"It shan't be your home much longer—I promise that," he whispered; but as yet Auna knew no other love than love of him.
"Where you are is my home, father," she said.
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