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"If I should go back to Martinique, I should become one in
your remembrance,--should I not? You would think of me just as you would
have thought of the Dryad yesterday, if she had stepped from the tree
and stepped back again?"
"Are you going to Martinique?" he asked, with a total change of face and
manner.
"I don't know. I am tired of this; and I cannot live on an ice-field. I
had such life at the South! It is 'as if a rose should shut and be a bud
again.' I need my native weather, heat and sea."
"How can you go to Martinique?"
"Oh, I forgot!"
Mr. Raleigh did not reply, and they both sat listening to the faint
night-side noises of the world.
"You are very quiet," he said at last, ceasing to fling waifs upon the
stream.
"And you could be very gay, I believe."
"Yes. I am full of exuberant spirits. Do you know what day it is?"
"It is my birthday."
"It is _my_ birthday!"
"How strange! The Jews would tell you that this sweet first of August
was the birthday of the world.


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