The meadow they had found was crimsoned over with ragged robins that in this strange light glowered angrily like rubies. Pauline bent down and gathered bunches of them until her arms were full. Her skirt was wet, but still she plucked the crimson flowers; and Guy was gathering them too, knee-deep in soaking grass. What fever was in the sunset to-night?
"Pauline," he cried flinging high his bunch of ragged robins to scatter upon the incarnadined air. "I have never loved you, as I love you now."
Guy caught her to him; and into that kiss the fiery sky entered, so that Pauline let fall her ragged robins and they lay limp in the grass and were trodden under foot.
"Pauline, I have a ring for you," he whispered. "Will you wear it when we are alone?"
She took the thin circlet set with a crystal, and put it on her finger. Then with passionate arms she held him to her heart: the caress burned his lips like a flaming torch: the crystal flashed with hectic gleams, a basilisk, a perilous orient gem.
"We must go home," she whispered. "Oh, Guy, I feel frightened of this evening."
"Pauline, my burning rose," he whispered.
And all the way back into the crimson sunset they talked still in whispers, and of those rain-drenched ragged robins there was not one they carried home.
'La belle Dame sans mercy hath thee in thrall!'
'La belle Dame sans mercy hath thee in thrall!'