They stood there on the bridge while the moon rose over Hartle Pike and scattered silver on the snow. Great shadows leaped to instant birth below the Pike whose comely top was one black silhouette against the brightened sky, and the beauty of the valley, seen by day with an almost Alpine harshness, mellowed in the moonlight to a subtle luminosity. Behind them were the lights of the friendly Inn; near by the low church tower saluted God amongst the pines, and all around them spread the lustrous radiance of the moon-flushed Dale.
For the hundredth time he restrained his impulse to repeat his words, “We’ll build a tabernacle here,” and Effie read his thought.
“We’re making the good beginning here,” she said. “We’re practising and I think we grow.”
“We grow in happiness,” he said, which he thought good argument for staying at Marbeck.
“Yes. We grow in happiness. We shall have outgrown Marbeck soon. We shall have grown a sturdy happiness that can withstand the towns. It might withstand Manchester and I think it will. To love, to work, to look for other people’s strength and not for other people’s weaknesses: that is to be happy, Sam. And happiness counts more than all. It roots and then it spreads. It spreads. Infection isn’t only of disease, infection is of happiness and youth. There’s too much age, too many men and women in the world who have forgotten love. We have to build, and build on happiness.” They gazed at the unguessed future through the silent night. God knows that there was work ahead for them to do!