“Presently he spoke to me, still without turning his head in my direction.
“'How often does this—this—come to pass?' he asked, panting the words out.
“'Many times a year,' I told him. 'At this season nearly every evening.'
“'And is it ever so beautiful as this?' he said.
“'Often more beautiful,' I said. 'Often the colours are richer and deeper.'
“'Why are there not more of us here to look upon it?' he asked. 'Surely at this hour all mankind must cease from its tasks—from whatever it is doing—to see this miracle—this free gift of the Creator!'
“I tried to tell him that mankind had grown accustomed to the daily repetition of the sunset, but he seemed unable to comprehend. As the last flattened ray of sunshine faded upon the grass, and the afterglow began to spread across the heavens, I thought he was about to faint; and I put both my arms round him to steady him. But he did not faint, though he trembled all over and took his breath into his lungs in great sobbing gulps. I showed him the evening star where it shone in the sky, and he watched it brighten, saying nothing at all.
“Suddenly he turned to me and said:
“'At last I have lived, and I have found that life is sweet. Life is sweeter than I ever dared to hope it might be.'
“Then he said: