On they went, past the quaint old gray windmill on the left, whose four great white arms slowly revolved in the light breeze. In a little window high up in the quiet mill, which Gladys said looked like a giantess's thimble, they saw the miller s wife standing, a rosy child on her strong shoulder. The little creature waved its hand to the two in the carriage; he liked to see the horses and their shining harness.
"Why did you call me, Gladys, that day? A week ago yesterday afternoon, you called me, and I heard you in the depths of the earth, far, very far off; and now I have come to ask you why you called me, on the very day, they tell me, it was when you—when you had no right to think of any other man than the man you had chosen."
"I did not call your name; did you hear my voice?"
"I do not know if I heard anything with my ears, but your spirit called to mine and mine heard it; do you not know this to be true?"
