You're never to worry about me.' 'I won't--so long as you write to me--every day.' There was again a silence.

Then she lifted her head, and as the boat swung out of the shadow, the moonlight caught her face.
'You'll take that Wordsworth I gave you, won't you, George?
It'll remind you--of this.' Her gesture showed the lake and the mountains.
'Of course, I shall take it.

I shall read it whenever I can--perhaps more for your sake--than Wordsworth's.' 'It'll make us remember the same things,' she murmured.
'As if we wanted anything to make us remember!' 'George!' her voice was almost a sob--'It's been almost too perfect.
Sometimes--just for that--I'm afraid.' 'Don't be, darling.

The God we believe in _isn't_ a jealous God! That's one of the notions one grows out of--over there.' 'Do you think He's our friend, George--that He really cares ?' The sweet appealing voice touched him unbearably.
'Yes, I do think it--' he said, firmly, after a pause.

'I do believe it--with all my heart.' 'Then I'll believe it!' she said, with a long breath; and there was silence again, till suddenly over the water came the sound of the Rydal Chapel bell, striking midnight.