And for that dream, she was made, after
her death, the great and merciful Queen of Heaven."
As Heywood ended, they were entering a pastoral village, near the town,
but hidden low under great trees, ancient and widely gnarled.
"You told that," said Miss Drake, "as though it had really happened."
"If you believe, these things have reality; if not, they have none." His
gesture, as he repeated the native maxim, committed him to neither side.
Miss Drake looked back toward the hills.
"Her dream was play, compared to--some."
"That," he answered, "is abominably true."
The curt, significant tone made her glance at him quickly. In her dark
eyes there was no impatience, but only trouble.
"We do better," she said, "when we are both busy."
He nodded, as though reluctantly agreeing, not so much to the words as
to the silence which followed.
The evening peace, which lay on the fields and hills, had flooded even
the village streets. Without pause, without haste, the endless labor of
the day went on as quiet as a summer cloud. Meeting or overtaking,
coolies passed in single file, their bare feet slapping the enormous
flags of antique, sunken granite, their twin baskets bobbing and
creaking to the rhythm of their wincing trot.
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