snuffling in the gateways--the campion flowers all lighted up along the
hedges--the moon with a halo-bats, too, in and out among the stems, and
the shadows of the cottages as black and soft as that sea down there.
For a long time we stood on the river-bank beneath a lime-tree. The
scent of the lime flowers! A man can only endure about half his joy;
about half his sorrow. Lucy and her husband," he went on, presently,
"his name was Frank Tor--a man like an old Viking, who ate nothing but
milk, bread, and fruit--were very good to us! It was like Paradise in
that inn--though the commissariat, I am bound to say, was limited. The
sweethriar grew round our bedroom windows; when the breeze blew the
leaves across the opening--it was like a bath of perfume. Eilie grew as
brown as a gipsy while we were there. I don't think any man could have
loved her more than I did. But there were times when my heart stood
still; it didn't seem as if she understood how much I loved her.
One day, I remember, she coaxed me to take her camping. We drifted
down-stream all the afternoon, and in the evening pulled into the reeds
under the willow-boughs and lit a fire for her to cook by--though, as a
matter of fact, our provisions were cooked already--but you know how it
is; all the romance was in having a real fire. 'We won't pretend,'
she kept saying. While we were eating our supper a hare came to our
clearing--a big fellow--how surprised he looked! 'The tall hare,' Eilie
called him. After that we sat by the ashes and watched the shadows, till
at last she roamed away from me. The time went very slowly; I got up to
look for her. It was past sundown. I called and called. It was a long
time before I found her--and she was like a wild thing, hot and flushed,
her pretty frock torn, her hands and face scratched, her hair down, like
some beautiful creature of the woods. If one loves, a little thing will
scare one. I didn't think she had noticed my fright; but when we got
back to the boat she threw her arms round my neck, and said, 'I won't
ever leave you again!'

"Once in the night I woke--a water-hen was crying, and in the moonlight
a kingfisher flew across. The wonder on the river--the wonder of the
moon and trees, the soft bright mist, the stillness! It was like another
world, peaceful, enchanted, far holier than ours. It seemed like a
vision of the thoughts that come to one--how seldom! and go if one tries
to grasp them. Magic--poetry-sacred!" He was si