IN THE FOREST OF ARDEN, 167 



taken the matter into her own hands. She remem 

 bered that there was work to be done which ought 

 not to be longer postponed ; that there were duties 

 to be met which ought not to be longer evaded ; 

 and when did Rosalind fail to be or to do that 

 which the hour and the experience commanded ? 

 We treasured the last days as if the minutes were 

 pure gold ; we lingered in talk with our friends as 

 if we should never again hear such spoken words ; 

 we loitered in the woods as if the spell of that beau 

 tiful silence would never again touch us. And yet 

 we knew that, once possessed, these things were 

 ours forever ; neither care, nor change, nor time, 

 nor death, could take them from us, for henceforth 

 they were part of ourselves. 



We stood again at length on the little porch, 

 covered with dust, and turned the key in the unused 

 lock. I think we were both a little reluctant to 

 enter and begin again the old round of life and 

 work. The house seemed smaller and less home 

 like, the furniture had lost its freshness, the books 

 on the shelves looked dull and faded. Rosalind 

 ran to a window, opened it, and let in a flood of 

 sunshine. I confess I was beginning to feel a little 

 heartsick, but when the light fell on her I remem 

 bered the rainy day in Arden, when the first rays 

 after the storm touched her and dispelled the 

 gloom, and I realized, with a joy too deep for words 

 or tears, that I had brought the best of Arden with 

 me. We talked little during those first days of our 



