And both were young

by Madeleine L'Engle

She pulled her coat off the peg in the hall and pushed into it as she opened the door and slipped outside. She looked down the mountain to the lake, and across the lake to the mountains, and above the mountains to the stars. The night was all about her, wild and cold and beautiful, and she let her happiness spread out into it, so that it became part of the night, part of the lake and the mountains and the stars.

Then she turned and Paul was standing in the doorway.

"I thought we ought to leave them alone," he said, glancing back at Flip's father and his Aunt Colette who were talking earnestly together.

"Paul, do you really think—" she asked.

He nodded. "Looks like it to me. Lets go for a walk, Flip."

He held out his hand and she took it. "Yes, Paul."

"Let's walk over to the Chateau," he suggested. "Its—it's sort of our place."

As they walked along together quietly hand in hand, the bells in all the nearby churches began to ring, calling and answering each other, and it seemed as though the clear night air was ringing.

Suddenly Paul cried out, and he sounded as happy as Flip felt. "Spring is going to be wonderful, Flip!"