You were different." He made as if he would draw nearer to her, and refrained.

The kind heart of Nature was in league with his.

Nature, having foreknowledge of her own hour, warned him that his hour was not yet.
And so he waited, while Nature, mindful of her purpose, began in Anne Majendie her holy, beneficent work.

The soul of the place was charged with memories, with presciences, with prophecies.

A thousand woodland influences, tender timidities, shy assurances, wooed her from her soul.
They pleaded sweetly, persistently, till Anne's brooding face wore the flush of surrender to the mysteries of earth.
The spell was broken by a squirrel's scurrying flight in the boughs above them.