Over the marshes slow hawks sailed, rose, wheeled, and fell; the
gray ducks, whose wings bear purple diamond-squares, quacked in the
tussock ponds, guarded by their sentinels, the tall, blue herons.
Everywhere the earth was sheeted with marsh-marigolds and violets.
Across the distant grassy flat two deer moved, grazing. We rode to the
east, skirting the marshes, following a trail made by cattle, until
beyond the flats we saw the green roof of the pleasure-house which Sir
William Johnson had built for himself. Our ride together was
nearly ended.
As at the same thought we tightened bridle and looked at each other
gravely.
"All rides end," I said.
"Ay, like happiness."
"Both may be renewed."
"Until they end again."
"Until they end forever."
She clasped her bare hands on her horse's neck, sitting with bent head
as though lost in sombre memories.
"What ends forever might endure forever," I said.
"Not our rides together," she murmured. "You must return to the South
one day. I must wed.... Where shall we be this day a year hence?"
"Very far apart, cousin."
"Will you remember this ride?"
"Yes," I said, troubled.
"I will, too.... And I shall wonder what you are doing."
"And I shall think of you," I said, soberly.
"Will you write?"
"Yes. Will you?"
"Yes.
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