" She still spoke in
the Old World tongue.
Now they had reached the little brook that tumbled down through the
rolling valley. The girl spoke again.
"Here the path is wider. You may walk beside me--if you like." She
glanced up from under her black lashes. "The hall is but a short half
mile down the stream here to the left." They proceeded, walking
slowly, the brook purling and murmuring at their side. The girl drew
in her breath again, deliberately and deep.
"Smell the roses. It is the long arbor of Don Benito, through which we
must pass. Ah, it is wonderful."
The heavy musk of roses seemed literally to fill the bottom of the
vale. With it was mingled the scent of the grass and of the field
flowers. Over all hung the moon, yellow and near.
"It is wonderful," mused Henderson. She came close to him.
"Remember," she said, "to-night I am your lady, and you--you are my
cavalier. Take care of the feather in your cavalier's hat, for here is
the arbor." He bowed his head, and they passed beneath the
sweet-scented array of blossoms and buds. Then, as they rounded a
corner of the slope, there came to them from far down the valley the
sound of music and the glint of lights through the uneasy leaves of
the maples.
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