ion to a fish, a bird, a dragon-fly. What
use making plans--for lovers the chief theme? Longing paralysed their
brains. They could do nothing but press close to each other, their hands
enlaced, their lips meeting now and then. On Noel's face was a strange
fixed stillness, as if she were waiting--expecting! They ate their
chocolates. The sun set, dew began to fall; the river changed, and grew
whiter; the sky paled to the colour of an amethyst; shadows lengthened,
dissolved slowly. It was past nine already; a water-rat came out, a
white owl flew over the river, towards the Abbey. The moon had come up,
but shed no light as yet. They saw no beauty in all this--too young, too
passionate, too unhappy.

Noel said: "When she's over those trees, Cyril, let's go. It'll be half
dark."

They waited, watching the moon, which crept with infinite slowness up and
up, brightening ever so little every minute.

"Now!" said Noel. And Morland rowed across.

They left the boat, and she led the way past an empty cottage, to a shed
with a roof sloping up to the Abbey's low outer wall.

"We can get over here," she whispered.

They clambered up, and over, to a piece of grassy courtyard, and passed
on to an inner court, under the black shadow of the high walls.

"What's the time?" said Noel.

"Half-past ten."

"Already! Let's sit here in the dark, and watch for the moon."

They sat down close together. Noel's face still had on it that strange
look of waiting; and Morland sat obedient, with his hand on her heart,
and his own heart beating almost to suffocation. They sat, still as
mice, and the moon crept up. It laid a first vague greyness on the high
wall, which spread slowly down, and brightened till the lichen and the
grasses up there were visible; then crept on, silvering the dark above
their heads. Noel pulled his sleeve, and whispered: "See!" There came
the white owl, soft as a snowflake, drifting across in that unearthly
light, as if flying to the moon. And just then the top of the moon itself
looked over the wall, a shaving of silvery gold. It grew, became a
bright spread fan, then balanced there, full and round, the colour of
pale honey.

"Ours!" Noel whispered.

2

From the side of the road Noel listened till the sound of the car was
lost in the folds of the valley. She did not cry, but passed her hands
over her face, and began to walk home, keeping to the shadow of the
trees. How many years had be