distilled on the dewy air in every soft puff of wind. Along the
fence rosebushes grew, but it was as yet too early in the season
for roses.

Beyond was the orchard proper, three long rows of trees with
green avenues between, each tree standing in a wonderful blow of
pink and white.

The charm of the place took sudden possession of Eric as nothing
had ever done before. He was not given to romantic fancies; but
the orchard laid hold of him subtly and drew him to itself, and
he was never to be quite his own man again. He went into it over
one of the broken panels of fence, and so, unknowing, went
forward to meet all that life held for him.

He walked the length of the orchard's middle avenue between long,
sinuous boughs picked out with delicate, rose-hearted bloom.
When he reached its southern boundary he flung himself down in a
grassy corner of the fence where another lilac bush grew, with
ferns and wild blue violets at its roots. From where he now was
he got a glimpse of a house about a quarter of a mile away, its
gray gable peering out from a dark spruce wood. It seemed a
dull, gloomy, remote place, and he did not know who lived there.

He had a wide outlook to the west, over far hazy fields and misty
blue intervales. The sun had just set, and the whole world of
green meadows beyond swam in golden light. Across a long valley
brimmed with shadow were uplands of sunset, and great sky lakes
of saffron and rose where a soul might lose itself in colour.
The air was very fragrant with the baptism of the dew, and the