He had lain upon the earth; and she had lifted him up.  For a moment he had felt the beatific wings enfolding him with gentle protection, and then saw them lifted to bear the angel beyond his sight.  For it was incredible that the gods so loved Joe Louden that they would make greater gifts to him than this little time with her which they had granted him.

“Changed so many things?”

The bars that had been between him and half of his world were down, shattered, never more to be replaced; and the ban of Canaan was lifted.  Could this have been, save for her?  And upon that thought he got to his feet, uttering an exclamation of bitter self-reproach, asking himself angrily what he was doing.  He knew how much she gave him, what full measure of her affection!  Was not that enough?—­Out upon you, Louden!  Are you to sulk in your tent, dour in the gloom, or to play a man’s part, and if she be happy, turn a cheery face upon her joy?

And thus this pilgrim recrossed the bridge, emerging to the street with his head up, smiling, and his shoulders thrown back so that none might see the burden he carried.

Ariel was waiting on the porch for him.  She wore the same dress she had worn that Sunday of their tryst; that exquisite dress, with the faint lavender overtint, like the tender colors of the beautiful day he made his own.  She had not worn it since, and he was far distant when he caught the first flickering glimpse of her through the lower branches of the maples, but he remembered. . . .  And again, as on that day, he heard a far-away, ineffable music, the Elf-land horns, sounding the mysterious reveille which had wakened his soul to her coming.

She came to the gate to meet him, and gave him her hand in greeting, without a word—­or the need of one—­from either.  Then together they set forth over the sun-flecked pavement, the maples swishing above them, heavier branches crooning in the strong breeze, under a sky like a Della Robbia background.  And up against the glorious blue of it, some laughing, invisible god was blowing small, rounded clouds of pure cotton, as children blow thistledown.

When he opened her parasol, as they came out into the broad sunshine beyond Upper Main Street, there was the faintest mingling of wild roses and cinnamon loosed on the air.

“Joe,” she said, “I’m very happy!”

“That’s right,” he returned, heartily.  “I think you always will be.”

“But, oh!  I wish,” she went on, “that Mr. Arp could have lived to see you come down the Court-house steps.”

“God bless him!” said Joe.  “I can hear the `argument’!”

“Those dear old men have been so loyal to you, Joe.”

“No,” he returned; “loyal to Eskew.”

“To you both,” she said.  “I’m afraid the old circle is broken up; they haven’t met on the National House corner since he died.  The Colonel told me he couldn’t bear to go there again.”