So he played for her until the dusk deepened around and below them, and they had to make their way back stumblingly. When they came to the wild, untrodden bank of the little river, David resigned the choosing of their path entirely to her and followed close, holding her hand where she led. When at last they reached their cabin, they did not light candles, but sat long in the doorway conversing on the deep things of their souls.
It still seemed to David as if she held something back from him, and now he begged her for a more perfect self-revealing.
"It is no longer as if we were separate, dearest; can't you remember and feel that we are one?"
"In a way I do. It is very sweet."
"You say in a way. In what way?"
"Why, David?"
"I want your point of view."
"I see. We're not really one until we see from each other's hilltop, are we?"
"No, and you never take me into the secret places of your heart and let me look off from your own hilltop."
"Didn't I this very evening, David?"