“There was the same sort of sound in those Russian voices when they were singing very softly. It could never come from a Pagan world.”
“You find belief behind it?”
“No—knowledge.”
He did not ask her to define exactly what she meant. It was not an hour for definition, but for dreaming, and he was happy again; the cloud of the morning had passed away; he had his love with untroubled eyes among the ruins. Thinking of that, realizing that with a sudden intensity, he took her warm hand from the warm stone on which it was resting, and held it closely in his.
“Oh, Rosamund, shall I ever have another hour as happy as this?” he said.
A little way off, in that long meadow in the breast of which the Stadium lay hidden, the sheep-bells sounded almost pathetically; a flock was there happily at pasture.
“It’s as if all the green doors were closing upon us to keep us in Elis forever, isn’t it?” she said. “But——”
She looked at him with a sort of smiling reproach:
“You wouldn’t be allowed to stay.”
“Why not?”