g, "it was
silly to start running downhill in the dark."

"Ass!" she retorted in a tone of tearful irritation; "of course it was."

He sat down beside on the grass, and found himself breathing the faint,
delicious atmosphere of perfume that she carried always with her.

"Light a match," she commanded. "I want to look at my wounds."

He felt in his pockets for the match-box. The light spurted and then
grew steady. Magically, a little universe had been created, a world of
colours and forms--Anne's face, the shimmering orange of her dress, her
white, bare arms, a patch of green turf--and round about a darkness that
had become solid and utterly blind. Anne held out her hands; both were
green and earthy with her fall, and the left exhibited two or three red
abrasions.

"Not so bad," she said. But Denis was terribly distressed, and his
emotion was intensified when, looking up at her face, he saw that the
trace of tears, involuntary tears of pain, lingered on her eyelashes.
He pulled out his handkerchief and began to wipe away the dirt from
the wounded hand. The match went out; it was not worth while to light
another. Anne allowed herself to be attended to, meekly and gratefully.
"Thank you," she said, when he had finished cleaning and bandaging her
hand; and there was something in her tone that made him feel that she
had lost her superiority over him, that she was younger than he,
had become, suddenly, almost a child. He felt tremendously large and
protective. The feeling was so strong that instinctively he put his
arm about her. She drew closer, leaned against him, and so they sat in
silence. Then, from below, soft but wonderfully clear through the still
darkness, they heard the sound of Ivor's singing. He was going on with
his half-finished song:

"Le lendemain Phillis plus tendre, Ne voulant deplaire au berger, Fut
trop heureuse de lui rendre Trente moutons pour un baiser."

There was a rather prolonged pause. It was as though time were being
allowed for the giving and receiving of a few of those thirty kisses.
Then the voice sang on:

"Le lendemain Phillis peu sage Aurait donne moutons et chien Pour un
baiser que le volage A Lisette donnait pour rien."

The last note died away into an uninterrupted silence.

"Are you better?" Denis whispered. "Are you comfortable like this?"

She nodded a Yes to both questions.

"Trente moutons pour un baiser." The sheep, the woolly mutton--baa,
baa, baa...? Or the shepherd?