“Do I remember?” echoed Jack. “Do I remember?”
“Only think, it is not a year ago,” she said. “And until then we had lived without each other. What a pity we did not advertise for each other before. It has been such a waste of time. Ah, there is the nightingale; there is always one in the elms at the end of the terrace. I remember how it sang all that night on which my father died.”
“It does not hurt you to think of that?” said Jack, gently.
“No, why should it? Life, love, death, the three great gifts of God. ‘What further can be sought for or declared?’” she quoted.
For a long time they sat in silence. The moon, still not yet in zenith, shone with a very clear light across the lake, and made a pathway of silver to the dim farther shore. To the right the nightingale trilled and bubbled, a few lights gleamed from the great house behind. A spell seemed cast over the world, and over the two sitting there a spell was cast.
Suddenly Jeannie turned and laid her arm round his neck.
“You are happy?” she asked. “You have made no mistake?”
But in her heart there was no question, but utter conviction.
“God knows I am happy!” he said.
“And you, Jack, you?” she asked. “Do you know it?”