WHITE BIRCHES
"I used to think when I was a little girl that they were around me when I was asleep
'Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—
Bless the bed that I lie on—'"
her laugh was a bit breathless—"but I don't believe in them any more. Ridgeley doesn't, you know. And it does seem silly"
"Oh, no, it isn't"
"Ridgeley feels that it is a bit morbid—and perhaps he is right. He says that we must eat and drink and—be merry," she flung out her hands with a little gesture of protest, "but he really isn't merry"
"I see. He just eats and drinks?" He smiled at her.
"And works. And his work is—wonderful."
They sat down on a stone bench which had been hewn out of solid gray rock. "I wish Ridgeley had time to play," Anne said; "it would be nice for both of us"
The amethyst light had gone, and the dusk descended. Anne's gray dress was merged into the gray of the rock. She seemed just voice, and phantom outline, and faint rose fragrance. Christopher recognized the scent. He had sent her a precious vial in a sandalwood box. Nothing had
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