“Come.”
He followed her, found himself at her side, moving through the long grass that rustled under their feet. He was no more a body, but a soul that burned with yearning and a great white glory. And Mellis’s hair was as black as the night.
She led him into the garden, and there he saw their table strewn with flowers. She had set out bread, and wine, and honey. His helmet lay in the midst on a cushion of green leaves, and she had bound it about with a spray of red roses taken from the old rose bush.
Mellis pointed a finger.
“Even the roses bloomed for us to-day. And there is your crown of victory.”
He stretched out a hand and touched hers timidly, as though he were afraid.
“Mellis——”
Her hand closed on his with a sudden thrill of tenderness.
“Is not life good? Do you fear to look at me, Martin?”
“You have stepped out of heaven,” he said, “and the great light of you blinds my eyes.”