Cis knew that the intimacy of this early journey, with all the world excluded from their consciousness, with its inevitable suggestion of other journeys, always together, especially of one other journey which this almost might be, so fast, so blissfully her heart was beating, Cis knew that it was to Rodney, as to herself, a new rapture, poignant, almost unbearably delicious in its present, and in its future promise. She knew as well as if he had spoken, that Rodney Moore loved her and intended to tell her so; to ask her to go with him on all his ways till death.
She realized that this day was to be filled to overflowing with that tremulous, delicate bliss which preludes those unspoken words, when both man and woman know that they are to be spoken and how they will be answered, a bliss that almost surpasses the joy of full possession, as anticipation always must surpass fulfilment, the mystery of dawn be lovelier than the full noontide.
“Shall we go to Niagara instead, Holly?” asked Rodney, bending toward her.
“No, indeed! I would rather see Pioneer Falls! Niagara is too big,” Cis said quickly, catching the significance of his allusion to the conventional bridal-tour point, resolved to keep this day under the glamor of what was to follow it, not to let him speak yet. “Besides, I couldn’t get to the office at nine-thirty from Niagara! Rod, I haven’t seen you to tell you! The code straightened out for me yesterday, just as I knew it would, suddenly, sometime! I’ve got the horrid thing so it will eat out of my hand!”
“Good for you! You’re a great one, Holly dear!” Rodney answered, settling back into his chair, following her lead.
The train took them through beautiful scenes of farmland, valleys and hills, beside a peaceful river, through small forests, everything, everywhere glowing with October colors, “like Cis,” as Rodney said. Neither Rodney nor Cis were inclined to talk; it was too beautiful for comment, too sacred for small talk, this lovely setting of their romance, also rapidly nearing its destination.
Pioneer Falls was the name of the station. Rodney picked up his basket and preceded Cis to a small motor car, billeted: “For hire,” which took them to the falls.
Here they climbed steep paths, and descended long, narrow steps, to see the falls from above and below, hushed by the wild and solemn beauty of their setting, chilled by the evaporation of their heavy waters, the dense shade of their surrounding pines and hemlocks.
“It’s not half-bad to get into a dining room after all that, is it, Holly?” asked Rodney when they had seated themselves at a small table tête-à-tête, and the waiter had withdrawn, after sending Cis’s blood to her hair by asking whether “Madame would take lettuce, endive, or salade Romaine?”
“It’s not the smallest fraction bad, Rod,” replied Cis, grateful to him for not taking advantage of the waiter’s mistake. “And I’m ravenous in spite of your lunch!”