from the twilight and shining.

Miriam came out wondering.

"Oh!" Paul heard her mellow voice call, "isn't it wonderful?"

He looked down. There was a faint gold glimmer on her face, that looked
very soft, turned up to him.

"How high you are!" she said.

Beside her, on the rhubarb leaves, were four dead birds, thieves that
had been shot. Paul saw some cherry stones hanging quite bleached, like
skeletons, picked clear of flesh. He looked down again to Miriam.

"Clouds are on fire," he said.

"Beautiful!" she cried.

She seemed so small, so soft, so tender, down there. He threw a handful
of cherries at her. She was startled and frightened. He laughed with a
low, chuckling sound, and pelted her. She ran for shelter, picking
up some cherries. Two fine red pairs she hung over her ears; then she
looked up again.

"Haven't you got enough?" she asked.

"Nearly. It is like being on a ship up here."

"And how long will you stay?"

"While the sunset lasts."

She went to the fence and sat there, watching the gold clouds fall to
pieces, and go in immense, rose-coloured ruin towards the darkness. Gold
flamed to scarlet, like pain in its intense brightness. Then the scarlet
sank to rose, and rose to crimson, and quickly the passion went out of
the sky. All the world was dark grey. Paul scrambled quickly down with
his basket, tearing his shirt-sleeve as he did so.

"They are lovely," said Miriam, fingering the cherries.

"I've torn my sleeve," he answered.

She took the three-cornered rip, saying:

"I shall have to mend it." It was near the shoulder. She put her fingers
through the tear. "How warm!" she said.

He laughed. There was a new, strange note in his voice, one that made
her pant.

"Shall we stay out?" he said.

"Won't it rain?" she asked.

"No, let us walk a little way."

They went down the fields and into the thick plantation of trees and
pines.

"Shall we go in among the trees?" he asked.

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

It was very dark among the firs, and the sharp spines pricked her face.
She was afraid. Paul was silent and strange.

"I like the darkness," he said. "I wish it were thicker--good, thick
darkness."

He seemed to be almost unaware of her as a person: she was only to him
then a woman. She was afraid.

He stood against a pine-tree trunk and took her in his arms. She
relinquished herself to him, but it was a sacrifice in which she felt
something of horror. This thick-voiced,