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From the Photoplay by the same author
To one here and there, on whose birth an angel smiled, has been given the quality of perfect love, of passion burning with soft and clear white flame, unquenchable — giving all, yet asking in return but the privilege to shed its glow and perfume about the object of its adoration. Thus it was with her whom they had so fittingly called Rose, for, in truth, she was like one of the white roses that blossomed in the quaint old garden at her door, fragrant and very fair. For three years she had been the wife of Fred Lester, yet still there clung about her, subtle as the aroma of a tropic night, a sense of girlhood, a magic incense from the heart to which had been granted eternal youth, and which a poet would have heard in the soft tones of her voice, or a great painter would have seen in the depths of her dark eyes, even tho the years had silvered the locks now gleaming brown as the ripe chestnuts dropping from their bursting burrs.
It was harvest-time, and the sunshine, warmly amber, filled the Valley of the Mohawk with a gentle languor. In the fields, the golden corn stood in ordered shocks. From the old tree close beside the kitchen win
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dow ripe apples were falling. Rose Lester dried the last of the dinner dishes and wiped her slim hands daintily. It was almost oppressively still, and there was a trace of weariness in the unconscious gesture with which she tucked neatly into place a tendril of hair that curled damply on her forehead. Her eyes, wandering inquiringly about the tidy room, rested upon a battered but shining tin box, and eyes and small mouth united in a little smile of happiness.
"Ill not wait until supper; I'll show it to him now," she said, and took from the box a newly baked cake, the fruit of an hour snatched from the morning by extra speed in doing the hundred tasks that must be performed by a farmer's wife, even tho hands be daintily slender and hurrying feet childishly small. Taking the supper treat, she passed thru the cottage to the porch, where her husband was availing himself of the hour of rest which he allowed himself at noon.
As always, when he could seize a few moments, Lester was deeply absorbed in the pages of a book, and did not raise his eyes at the sound of his wife's step. The girl stood regarding him for a few moments,