em. Young Raffleton threw away his
cigar and went down upon his knees to grope among the shadows, and,
doing so, he touched something warm and soft and yielding.

But it wasn't an owl. He must have touched her very lightly, for even
then she did not wake. She lay there with her head upon her arm. And
now close to her, his eyes growing used to the shadows, he saw her
quite plainly, the wonder of the parted lips, the gleam of the white
limbs beneath their flimsy covering.

Of course, what he ought to have done was to have risen gently and
moved away. Then he could have coughed. And if that did not wake her
he might have touched her lightly, say, on the shoulder, and have
called to her, first softly, then a little louder, "Mademoiselle," or
"Mon enfant." Even better, he might have stolen away on tiptoe and
left her there sleeping.

This idea does not seem to have occurred to him. One makes the excuse
for him that he was but three-and-twenty, that, framed in the purple
moonlight, she seemed to him the most beautiful creature his eyes had
ever seen. And then there was the brooding mystery of it all, that
atmosphere of far-off primeval times from which the roots of life still
draw their sap. One takes it he forgot that he was Flight Commander
Raffleton, officer and gentleman; forgot the proper etiquette applying
to the case of ladies found sleeping upon lonely moors without a
chaperon. Greater still, the possibility that he never thought of
anything at all, but, just impelled by a power beyond himself, bent
down and kissed her.

Not a platonic kiss upon the brow, not a brotherly kiss upon the cheek,
but a kiss full upon the parted lips, a kiss of worship and amazement,
such as that with which Adam in all probability awakened Eve.

Her eyes opened, and, just a little sleepily, she looked at him. There
could have been no doubt in her mind as to what had happened. His lips
were still pressing hers. But she did not seem in the least surprised,
and most certainly not angry. Raising herself to a sitting posture,
she smiled and held out her hand that he might help her up. And, alone
in that vast temple, star-roofed and moon-illumined, beside that grim
grey altar of forgotten rites, hand in hand they stood and looked at
one another.

"I beg your pardon," said Commander Raffleton. "I'm afraid I have
disturbed you."

He remembered afterwards that in his confusion he had spoken to her in
English. But she answere