in vain and pass me by, as you shall hear.

It was a night of splendour with a full moon uprising in majesty to
fill the world with her soft radiance; a night very warm and still and
we silent, I think because of the tender beauty of the night.

"Martin," says my companion softly at last, "here is another day sped--"

"Alas, and more's the pity!" quoth I.

"O?" says she, looking at me askance.

"Our days fly all too fast, Damaris, here is a time I fain would linger
upon, an I might."

"It hath been a very wonderful time truly, Martin, and hath taught me
very much. We are both the better for it, I think, and you--"

"What of me, comrade?" I questioned as she paused.

"You are grown so much gentler since your sickness, so much more my
dear friend and companion."

"Why, 'tis all your doing, Damaris."

"I am glad--O very glad!" says she almost in a whisper.

"Why, 'tis you who have taught me to--to love all good, sweet things,
to rule myself that I--I may some day, mayhap, be a little more worthy
of--of--" here, beginning to flounder, I came to sudden halt, and
casting about in my mind for a likely phrase, saw her regarding me, the
dimple in her cheek, but her eyes all compassionate and ineffably
tender.

"Dear man!" says she, and reached me her hand.

"Damaris," says I heavily and looking down at these slender fingers,
yet not daring to kiss them lest my passion sweep me away, "you know
that I do love you?"

"Yes, Martin."

"And that, my love, be it what it may, is yet an honest love?"

"Yes, dear Martin."

Here was silence a while, she looking up at the moon, and I at her.

"I broke my oath to you once," says I, "nor will I swear again, but,
dear my lady, know this: though I do hunger and thirst for you, yet
mine is such reverent love that should we live thus together long
years--aye, until the end of our lives, I will school myself to
patience and wait ever upon your will. Though 'twill be hard!" says I
'twixt my teeth, thrilling to the sudden clasp of her fingers.

"But, Martin," says she softly, "how if our days together here should
all suddenly end--"

"End?" cries I, starting, "Wherefore end? When? Why end?" And I
trembled in a sick panic at the mere possibility. "End?" quoth I
again, "Would you have an end?"

"No--ah no!" says she leaning to me that I could look down into her
eyes.

"Doth this--O Damaris, can this mean that you are happy with me in this
solitude--content--?"

"S