Presently he turned and looked at her. She had fallen asleep. Her head rested against the birch-tree and her face wore a soft flush in sleep.... Now that it was quiet and the smile was gone, he could see that it was very tired. A quick desire seized him—to keep the face—to stay the change in it. A woman should not grow old!... And then as he looked at her, he saw that she was more beautiful than she had ever been.
She opened her eyes and smiled to him hazily. “Twenty-five years!” she murmured sleepily, and the eyes closed. He moved a little nearer to her till her head rested against him and she slept on.
When she opened her eyes, the light had changed. She sat up with a swift look.
“How stupid in me—to go to sleep!... But how wonderful it is!” She was gazing at the darkened light that spread like a veil over the country below. The grass and trees were misty in it—only a winding river caught a touch of glamour from an unseen source and glowed through the dusk. The darkness grew and deepened on the plain, and the sides of the hill were blurred in it—shadowy shapes crept up.
“We must go,” said Richard. “The days are short.”
“Yes”—she breathed a little sigh—“yes—we must go.” She got up.
But he stayed her and she stood arrested, looking down at him.
“There—was something—I wanted to tell you,” he said.
She glanced at the plain—with the little gleaming river shining in it. “It is late!” she said.
“I brought my bug-light.” He touched his pocket. “Sit down.”