“Come, Miriam,” breathed Spinrobin softly into her little ear; “we’ll go down into another valley ... and live happily together forever and ever....”

“Yes,” she murmured, blushing with the rosiness of that exquisite winter’s dawn; “... you and I ... and ... and ...”

But Spinrobin kissed the unborn name from her lips.  “Hush!” he whispered, “hush!”

For the little “word” between these two was not yet made flesh.  But the dawn-wind caught up that “hush” and carried it to the trees and undergrowth about them, and then ran thousand-footed before them to whisper it to the valley where they were going.

And Miriam, knowing the worship and protection in his delicate caress, looked up into his face and smiled—­and the smile in her grey eyes was that ancient mother-smile which is coeval with life.  For the word of creation flamed in these two hearts, waiting only to be uttered.