And Mistress Dorothy Fair, with many eyes in the neighbors' windows
watching, went pacing slowly, for her delicate limbs as yet did not
bear her strongly, day after day down the road and into the lane,
and, with frequent rests upon wayside stones, to the farther end of
it. And yet she did not meet Eugene therein, and her dream did not
come true.
But it happened at last, about the middle of the month of June, when
the great red and white roses in the dooryards were in such full
bloom that in another day they would be past it and fall, that
Dorothy and Eugene met in the lane; for there is room enough in time
for most dreams to come true, and for the others there is eternity.
That afternoon Dorothy had gone forth as usual, but she said to
herself that he would not come; and half-way down the lane she ceased
peering into the green distances for him, and sat herself down on a
stone, and leaned back against the trunk of a young maple, and shut
her eyes wearily, and told herself in a sort of sad penitence that
she would look no more for him, for he would not come.
The grass in the lane was grown long now, with a pink mist over the
top of it; the trees at the sides leaned together heavy with foliage,
and the bordering walls were all hidden under bushes and vines.
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