“Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. Wood laughed louder than ever. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. The delight of the turnkeys was beyond all bounds; but poor Mrs. Hill was seated. ” “Think not,” that young man remarked laconically. As they kissed goodbye, she hoped that he felt the same reluctance to part. But he could only discern a black and shapeless mass, floating upon the water at a little distance, which, to his bewildered fancy, appeared absolutely standing still.
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