But soon only a more passionate heat shoots from the sun into the planet.  The plumes of the hemp are so dry again, that by the pollen shaken from their tops you can trace the young rabbits making their way out to the dusty paths.  The shadows of white clouds sail over purple stretches of blue-grass, hiding the sun from the steady eye of the turkey, whose brood is spread out before her like a fan on the earth.  At early morning the neighing of the stallions is heard around the horizon; at noon the bull makes the deep, hot pastures echo with his majestic summons; out in the blazing meadows the butterflies strike the afternoon air with more impatient wings; under the moon all night the play of ducks and drakes goes on along the margins of the ponds.  Young people are running away and marrying; middle-aged farmers surprise their wives by looking in on them at their butter-making in the sweet dairies; and Nature is lashing everything—­grass, fruit, insects, cattle, human creatures—­more fiercely onward to the fulfillment of her ends.  She is the great heartless haymaker, wasting not a ray of sunshine on a clod, but caring naught for the light that beats upon a throne, and holding man and woman, with their longing for immortality, and their capacities for joy and pain, as of no more account than a couple of fertilizing nasturtiums.

The storm kept Daphne at home.  On the next day the earth was yellow with sunlight, but there were puddles along the path, and a branch rushing swollen across the green valley in the fields.  On the third, her mother took the children to town to be fitted with hats and shoes, and Daphne also, to be freshened up with various moderate adornments, in view of a protracted meeting soon to begin.  On the fourth, some ladies dropped in to spend the day, bearing in mind the episode at the dinner, and having grown curious to watch events accordingly.  On the fifth, her father carried out the idea of cutting down some cedar-trees in the front yard for fence posts; and whenever he was working about the house, he kept her near to wait on him in unnecessary ways.  On the sixth, he rode away with two hands and an empty wagon-bed for some work on the farm; her mother drove off to another dinner—­dinners never cease in Kentucky, and the wife of an elder is not free to decline invitations; and at last she was left alone in the front porch, her face turned with burning eagerness toward the fields.  In a little while she had slipped away.

All these days Hilary had been eager to see her.  He was carrying a good many girls in his mind that summer; none in his heart; but his plans concerning these latter were for the time forgotten.  He hung about that part of his farm from which he could have descried her in the distance.  Each forenoon and afternoon, at the usual hour of her going to her uncle’s, he rode over and watched for her.  Other people passed to and fro,—­children and servants,—­but not Daphne; and repeated disappointments fanned his desire to see her.