“Ah, I know,” whispered Guida: “it is Dormy Jamais. How foolish of me to be afraid!”
“Of course, of course,” said Philip—“Dormy Jamais, the man who never sleeps.”
“Philip—if he saw us!”
“Foolish child, the garden wall is too high for that. Besides—”
“Yes, Philip?”
“Besides, you are my wife, Guida!”
“No, no, Philip, no; not really so until all the world is told.”
“My beloved Guida, what difference can that make?” She sighed and shook her head. “To me, Philip, it is only that which makes it right—that the whole world knows. Philip, I am so afraid of—of secrecy, and cheating.”
“Nonsense-nonsense!” he answered. “Poor little wood-bird, you’re frightened at nothing at all. Come and sit by me.” He drew her close to him.
Her trembling presently grew less. Hundreds of glow-worms were shimmering in the hedge. The grass-hoppers were whirring in the mielles beyond; a flutter of wings went by overhead. The leaves were rustling gently; a fresh wind was coming up from the sea upon the soft, fragrant dusk.