ot move.
And while my small hand touched his I gazed into the spaces of the
bedroom, with its walls of faded blue tapestry and its white curtains,
and its marble and rosewood, and they seemed to hold peace, as the
hollows of a field hold dew; they seemed to hold happiness as a great
tree holds sunlight in its branches; and outside was the murmuring of
the leaves of the forest and the virginal freshness of the morning.

Surely he must wake earlier that day! I pursed my lips and blew tenderly,
mischievously, on his cheek, lying with my cheek full on the pillow, so
that I could watch him. The muscles of his mouth twitched, his inner
being appeared to protest. And then began the first instinctive blind
movement of the day with him. His arms came forward and found my neck,
and drew me forcibly to him, and then, just before our lips touched, he
opened his eyes and shut them again. So it occurred every morning. Ere
even his brain had resumed activity his heart had felt its need of me.
This it was that was so wonderful, so overpowering! And the kiss, languid
and yet warm, heavy with a human scent, with the scent of the night,
honest, sensuous, and long--long! As I lay thus, clasped in his arms, I
half closed my eyes, and looked into his eyes through my lashes, smiling,
and all was a delicious blur....

It was the summit of bliss! No! I have never mounted higher! I asked
myself, astounded, what I had done that I should receive such happiness,
what I had done that existence should have no flaw for me. And what _had_
I done? I know not, I know not. It passes me. I am lost in my joy. For I
had not even cured him. I had anticipated painful scenes, interminable
struggles, perhaps a relapse. But nothing of the kind. He had simply
ceased at once the habit--that was all. We never left each other. And his
magnificent constitution had perfectly recovered itself in a few months.
I had done nothing.

'Magda,' he murmured indistinctly, drawing his mouth an inch away from
mine, 'why can't your dark hair always be loose over your shoulders like
that? It is glorious!'

'What ideas you have!' I murmured, more softly than he. 'And do you know
what it is to-day?'

'No.'

'You've forgotten?' I pouted.

'Yes.'

'Guess.'

'No; you must tell me. Not your birthday? Not mine?'

'It's just a year since I met you,' I whispered timidly.

Our mouths met again, and, so enlocked, we rested, savouring the true
savour of life. And presently my ha