and countless others, the tone of
their voices--soft, almost murmuring, with a sort of delighted
gentleness--gave a high, sweet importance, a halo that neither for the
world would have dislodged from where it hovered.

It was past six when he got up to go, and there had not been a moment to
break the calm of that sacred feeling in both their hearts. They parted
with another tranquil look, which seemed to say: 'It is well with us--we
have drunk of happiness.'

And in this same amazing calm Miltoun remained after he had gone away,
till about half-past nine in the evening, he started forth, to walk down
to the House. It was now that sort of warm, clear night, which in
the country has firefly magic, and even over the Town spreads a
dark glamour. And for Miltoun, in the delight of his new health and
well-being, with every sense alive and clean, to walk through the warmth
and beauty of this night was sheer pleasure. He passed by way of St.
James's Park, treading down the purple shadows of plane-tree leaves into
the pools of lamplight, almost with remorse--so beautiful, and as if
alive, were they. There were moths abroad, and gnats, born on the water,
and scent of new-mown grass drifted up from the lawns. His heart felt
light as a swallow he had seen that morning; swooping at a grey feather,
carrying it along, letting it flutter away, then diving to seize it
again. Such was his elation, this beautiful night! Nearing the House of
Commons, he thought he would walk a little longer, and turned westward
to the river: On that warm evening the water, without movement at turn
of tide, was like the black, snake-smooth hair of Nature streaming out
on her couch of Earth, waiting for the caress of a divine hand. Far away
on the further; bank throbbed some huge machine, not stilled as yet. A
few stars were out in the dark sky, but no moon to invest with pallor
the gleam of the lamps. Scarcely anyone passed. Miltoun strolled along
the river wall, then crossed, and came back in front of the Mansions
where she lived. By the railing he stood still. In the sitting-room of
her little flat there was no light, but the casement window was wide
open, and the crown of white flowers in the bowl on the window-sill
still gleamed out in the darkness like a crescent moon lying on its
face. Suddenly, he saw two pale hands rise--one on either side of that
bowl, lift it, and draw it in. And he quivered, as though they had
touched him. Again those two hands