The night was dark. All the blossoming things of earth were hidden, and the fragrances abroad seemed shaken from the stars that flowered and clustered profusely in the arching bows of the sky. They were back at her garden-gate. Above it rose a faint broken shadow where, by day, lilac and laburnum poured over in a wild maze to the lane. But when they came to the cherry-tree they found it still glimmering faintly,—a cloud, a ghost.
Judith stretched up a hand and picked a scrap of cherry and held it out to Martin.
‘That’s the secret of it all, I do think. Cherry blossom grows from the seeds of enchantment. Keep it and wish and you’ll have your heart’s desire. Wish, Martin.’
He snatched it and her hand with it. They waited. He held the spray and clutched her hand, sighed and said nothing. Their forms were shadows just outlined against the luminous tree.
‘What were you going to say?’ she whispered.
‘I—don’t know.’
‘No wishes?’
‘Too many.’
He was lost,—caught away, spell-bound, lost.
‘What a night! Isn’t it, Martin?’