He bought them and took them home to her room.

Thereafter it was sacred to her; he always knocked on its door before he entered; he kept it sweet with fresh flowers; he sat there in the purple summer evenings and talked aloud to her or read his favourite books to her.

In his fancy she sat opposite to him in her rocker, clad in the trailing blue gown, with her head leaning on one slender hand, as white as a twilight star.
But Carlisle people knew nothing of this--would have thought him tinged with mild lunacy if they had known.

To them, he was just the shy, simple farmer he appeared.

They never knew or guessed at the real Jasper Dale.
One spring Alice Reade came to teach music in Carlisle.