Tom sat in the porch and watched the moon rise in a sea of silver. The scents the wind wafted to him, the occasional sound of a far-off night-bird, the rustle of the leaves brought things back to him—things he had felt in his youth. There had been nights like this in the days when he had been a big, clumsy young fellow, wild with hopeless love for Delia Vanuxem. On such nights the air had been full of this night breath of flowers, the birds had stirred in their nests with just such sounds, the moon had mounted, as it did to-night, higher and higher in a sky it thrilled a man’s soul to lift his face to.
“Yes, it was all like this,” he said, leaning back and clasping his big hands behind his head. “Just like this! And those two out there are living it over again, only they’ve been fairly treated, and they are trembling with the joy of it. They’re pretty safe,” he ended. “They’re pretty safe. They’ve had a fair show.”
Rupert and Sheba walked slowly side by side. They saw and felt everything. If a bird stirred with a sleepy sound, they stopped to listen and smiled tremulously at each other. More than once Sheba knelt down and hid her face among the flowers, kissing them. Her arms were full of white blossoms. She and Rupert had made white garlands for her hair and waist, such as she had worn the night he had first seen her standing on her little balcony. When Rupert held her to his side, the scent from their crushed petals filled the air they breathed. The early night was at its stillest and fairest, and the moonlight seemed to flood all the world, when Sheba stopped and looked up, speaking softly:
“Shall we go now?” she said. “The moon will be shining down between the pines. It will be so quiet.”
“Yes,” he answered. “Let us go now.”
They had planned weeks ago the things they were going to do. They were going to say good-night to the small mound at Blair’s Hollow.
When they left their horses at the foot of the hill even the pines could not look darkly under the fair light. The balmy air passing through their branches made a sound as if it was hushing a child to sleep.
The little mound lay in the soft brightness of clear moonbeams. Sheba knelt beside it and began to lay her bridal blossoms on the grass-covered earth. Rupert stood and watched her. His heart beat with a reverent, rapturous tremor. She looked like a young angel.
She bent down and laid her cheek upon the grass; her arm was thrown out as if she clasped something to her girl’s breast. She spoke in a whisper—thrilled with love. “I am happy,” she said. “I am happy. Oh, do you hear? Do you hear?”