She came out from the shadows of the orchard, and saw him standing there, his right arm covering his face. Her heart faltered for a beat or two, and then quickened with a rush of wonder and awe.
Mellis went toward him, her eyes mysterious and full of soft, tremulous light. Martin heard her footsteps and her gown sweeping the grass. He uncovered his face, and it was all white and strange and radiant.
For a moment they looked at each other with mute timidity. There seemed nothing that could be said, for the great mystery of life had touched them.
Then Mellis spoke, and her words were no louder than a light wind moving in the trees.
“I do not know what the day has done to me. But I could sit in the long grass and listen to the birds singing, and watch the sunset on the water, and never speak nor move.”
“It is very wonderful,” he said, “for all the joy of the world seems in this valley.”
“I could touch no food to-night but honey and white bread, and moisten my lips with the dew.”
She heard Martin draw in his breath.
“And presently the soft dusk will come, and the day will die. But there will be the stars, and a silver sheen on the water, and a silence that waits—and listens——”
Her face dreamed.