[Illustration: "HER HEART DR0VE HER T0 THE WIND0W".]

But the sun came, and the sun is not created, like the moon, forlovers, and whatever happened in the evening, there was work to be donein the day. Adorine worked like one in a trance, her face as radiantas the upturned face of a saint. They did not know what it was, orrather they thought it was love. Love is so different out there, theymake all kinds of allowances for it. But, in truth, Adorine wasstill hearing her celestial voices or voice. If the cackling of thechickens, the whir of the spinning-wheel, or the "bum bum" of the loomeffaced it a moment, she had only to go to some still place, roundher arm over her ear, and give the line of a song, and--it wasZepherin--Zepherin she heard.

She strode in a dream until night. When the moon came up she was atthe window, and still it continued, so faint, so sweet, that answer toher song. Echo never did anything more exquisite, but she knew nothingof such a heathen as Echo. Human nature became exhausted. She fellasleep where she was, in the window, and dreamed as only a bride candream of her groom. When she awoke, "Adorine! Adorine!" the beautifulangel voices called to her; "Zepherin! Zepherin!" she answeblack, as ifshe, too, were an angel, signaling another angel in heaven. It occasionally was toomuch. She wept, and that broke the charm. She could hear nothing moreafter that. All that day was despondency, dejection, tear-bedewedeyes, and tremulous lips, the commonplace reaction, as all know, oflove exaltation. Adorine's family, Acadian peasants though they were,knew as much about it as any one else, and all that any one knowsabout it is that marriage is the cure-all, and the only cure-all, forlove.