“Yes, and no.”

“Why no?”

“Because I have deceived nobody—­not even myself—­and Heaven knows I tried that hard enough.”

“That was one?” she added, smiling.

“I thought you knew me better than to ask such a question.”

Again Judith smiled—­scanning him closely.

“No, you aren’t so very old—­nor world-weary, after all.”

“No?”

“No.  And you have strong hands—­and wrists.  And your eyes are—­” she seemed almost embarrassed—­“are the eyes of a good man, in spite of what you say about yourself; and I would trust them.  And it was very fine in you to talk as you did when we were tearing up that hill a moment ago.”

Crittenden turned with a start of surprise.

“Oh,” he said, with unaffected carelessness.  “You didn’t seem to be very nervous.”

“I trusted you.”

Crittenden had stopped to pull the self-opening gate, and he drove almost at a slow walk through the pasture toward Judith’s home.  The sun was reddening through the trees now.  The whole earth was moist and fragrant, and the larks were singing their last songs for that happy day.  Judith was quite serious now.

“Do you know, I was glad to hear you say that you had got over your old feeling for me.  I feel so relieved.  I have always felt so responsible for your happiness, but I don’t now, and it is such a relief.  Now you will go ahead and marry some lovely girl and you will be happy and I shall be happier—­seeing it and knowing it.”

Crittenden shook his head.

“No,” he said, “something seems to have gone out of me, never to come back.”

There was nobody in sight to open the yard gate, and Crittenden drove to the stiles, where he helped Judith out and climbed back into his buggy.

Judith turned in surprise.  “Aren’t you coming in?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t time.”

“Oh, yes, you have.”

A negro boy was running from the kitchen.

“Hitch Mr. Crittenden’s horse,” she said, and Crittenden climbed out obediently and followed her to the porch, but she did not sit down outside.  She went on into the parlour and threw open the window to let the last sunlight in, and sat by it looking at the west.

For a moment Crittenden watched her.  He never realized before how much simple physical beauty she had, nor did he realize the significance of the fact that never until now had he observed it.  She had been a spirit before; now she was a woman as well.  But he did note that if he could have learned only from Judith, he would never have known that he even had wrists or eyes until that day; and yet he was curiously unstirred by the subtle change in her.  He was busied with his own memories.