Chapter V

           Perhapstherewasabreathofsound—Frecklesneverafterwardcouldremember—butforsomereasonheliftedhisheadasthebushespartedandthefaceofanangellookedbetween.Saints,nymphs,andfairieshadfloateddownhiscathedralaisleforhimmanytimes,withformsandvoicesofexquisitebeauty.

           PartingthewildrosesattheentrancewasbeautyofwhichFrecklesneverhaddreamed.Wasitrealorwoulditvanishastheotherdreams?Hedroppedhisbook,andrisingtohisfeet,wentastepcloser,gazingintently.Thiswasrealfleshandblood.ItwasineverywaykintotheLimberlost,fornobirdofitsbranchesswungwitheasiergracethanthisdaintyyoungthingrockedonthebitofmorassonwhichshestood.Asaplingbesideherwasnotstraighterorrounderthanherslenderform.Hersoft,wavinghairclungaroundherfacefromtheheat,andcurledoverhershoulders.Itwasallofonepiecewiththegoldofthesunthatfilteredbetweenthebranches.Hereyeswerethedeepestblueoftheiris,herlipsthereddestredofthefoxfire,whilehercheekswereexactlyofthesamesatinasthewildrosepetalscaressingthem.ShewassmilingatFrecklesinperfectconfidence,andshecried:

           “Oh,I’msodelightedthatI’vefoundyou!”

           ThewildlyleapingheartofFrecklesburstfromhisbodyandfellintheblackswamp-muckatherfeetwithsuchathudthathedidnotunderstandhowshecouldavoidhearing.Hereallyfeltthatifshelookeddownshewouldsee.

           Incredulous,hequavered:“An’—an’wasyoulookingforme?”

           “IhopedImightfindyou,”saidtheAngel.