Maquetas paused for a moment, and as he did so there came to his ears the voice of the invisible torrent flowing in the depths of the abyss. He quitted the road, stretched himself on the turf and laid his head on the girl’s lap. With her fresh rosy hands she wiped the sweat from his brow, while his eyes gazed up at the morning sky overhead, a sky that was as young as the eyes of the girl.
“What is it you are singing, lass?”
“’Tis not I singing—it is the water that flows down there, behind us.”
“And what is it that it sings?”
“It sings the song of eternal rest. But now rest yourself.”
“Eternal, did you say?”
“Yes, that is what the torrent sings. But now rest.”
“And afterwards....”
“Rest, Maquetas, and don’t say ‘afterwards.’”
The girl put her lips to his lips and kissed him. Maquetas felt the kiss melt and flow through all his body, and so sweet it was that it seemed as if all the sky poured itself down over him. His senses swooned. He dreamed that he was falling endlessly down into the bottomless abyss....