“How exciting!” she half whispered when the carriage had gone by.
Once more we entered the pines, following the new path over the brook again to the spot where we first had met. There I touched her hand. “Let us wait for the thrush here,” I whispered.
I could see her glimmering face lifted to mine. “Why here?” she asked.
“Because it was here we first heard him.”
“Oh, forgive me,” she answered. “I didn’t realize! The path has made it look different, I guess. Forgive me.”
She spoke very low, and her voice was grieving. Did it mean so much to her? A sudden pang went through my heart–and then a sudden hot wave of joy–and then sudden doubts. I was silent. So was the thrush. Presently I touched her hand again, gently.
“Come,” said I, “we have scared him with our chopping. He will come back, though, and then we will walk down the clean path, making no noise, and hear him sing.”
“Nice path,” she said, “to come out of your door, through your orchard, and wander up a path by a brook, through your own pines! Oh, fortunate mortal!”
“And find Diana wading in a pool,” I added.
Again she shot an odd, questioning look at me, and shook her head. Then she ran into the south room and put the books back on the shelves.