proposing in a dust-storm." But I did not see how that would
improve the mistake.

Then he shouted: "Where's Edith--Edith Copleigh?" Edith was the
youngest sister. I answered out of my astonishment:--"What do you
want with HER?" Would you believe it, for the next two minutes, he
and I were shouting at each other like maniacs--he vowing that it
was the youngest sister he had meant to propose to all along, and I
telling him till my throat was hoarse that he must have made a
mistake! I can't account for this except, again, by the fact that
we were neither of us ourselves. Everything seemed to me like a
bad dream--from the stamping of the horses in the darkness to
Saumarez telling me the story of his loving Edith Copleigh since
the first. He was still clawing my shoulder and begging me to tell
him where Edith Copleigh was, when another lull came and brought
light with it, and we saw the dust-cloud forming on the plain in
front of us. So we knew the worst was over. The moon was low
down, and there was just the glimmer of the false dawn that comes
about an hour before the real one. But the light was very faint,
and the dun cloud roared like a bull. I wondered where Edith
Copleigh had gone; and as I was wondering I saw three things
together: First Maud Copleigh's face come smiling out of the
darkness and move towards Saumarez, who was standing by me. I
heard the girl whisper, "George," and slide her arm through the arm
that was not clawing my shoulder, and I saw that look on her face
which only comes once or twice in a lifetime-when a woman is
perfectly happy and the air is full of trumpets and gorgeous-
colored fire and the Earth turns into cloud because she loves and
is loved. At the same time, I saw Saumarez's face as he heard Maud
Copleigh's voice, and fifty yards away from the clump of orange-