The new softness of the soil had, for him, its own deep meaning of resurrection. The road was clear until he came to a fallen tree, over which he stepped easily. 'Perhaps,' he thought, whimsically, as he went cautiously down the path, searching out every step of the way, 'there was no sunset at all.'

A single star uplifted its exquisite lamp against the afterglow, near the veiled ivory of the crescent moon.

Mist drifted in from the sleeping sea, and the hush of night brooded over the river as it murmured through the plain. Dusk came upon the valley and crept softly to the hills. Mnemosyne, that guardian angel of the soul, brought from her treasure-house gifts of laughter and tears the laughter sweet with singing, and the bitterness of the tears eternally lost in the Water of Forgetfulness. Remembered sunsets, from beyond the darkness of more than twenty years, came back to him with divine beauty and diviner joy.

He took off his hat and stray gleams came through the deepening shadows to rest, like an aureole, upon his silvered hair. His massive head was thrown back, as though he listened, with a secret sense, for music denied to those who see.

The man who stood near the edge of the cliff, quite alone, and carefully feeling the ground before him with his cane, had chosen to face the valley and dream of the glory that, perchance, trailed down in living light from some vast loom of God's. The thousand sounds and scents of Spring at last had waked the world. Bare boughs dripped rain upon the sodden earth, where the dead leaves had so long been hidden by the snow. Behind the hills, the splendid tapestry glowed and flamed, sending far messages of light to the grey East, where lay the sea, crooning itself to sleep. The pines, darkly purple, towered against the sunset.

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