"I don't want you to be anything else." Meg's voice and laugh were
Love. Her sincere eyes were happily confident.
"People who 'walk on their heads' don't make fortunes, beloved."
"People who think the desert is 'paradise enow' don't need fortunes."
Michael pressed the palms of her hands to his lips. "Dear strong hands," he said, "are they willing to work with mine?"
"Oh, Mike," she said. "I'm so glad, so happy! It doesn't seem fair—our world's all heaven to-night—I want others to have just a little of it."
They listened to the silence.
Michael's thoughts were of his world-state, his religion of Love, the closeness of God.
"Every star in the sky seems to know about our love," Meg said. "And I think the waiting silence has been expecting this."
"I know," Michael said. "To me love seems to be crowding the valley and flying down from the hills and searching the stillness. Life's become a new kind of thing altogether, Meg, we'll have to help each other."
"That's just what I feel. It's alarming to find yourself quite a different human being in less than an hour, to have suddenly developed unsuspected elements in your nature." She laughed. "I never thought I could be such a complete fool, dearest."