With that Cathal leaned forward and kissed Ardanna upon the lips twice. “A kiss for life that,” he said; “and that a kiss for death.”
Ardanna laughed a low laugh. “The monk can kiss,” she whispered: “can the monk love?”
He put his arm about her, and they went into the dim dark greenness.
The moon rose slowly, a globe of pale golden fire which spilled unceasingly a yellow flame upon the suspended billows of the forest. Star after star emerged. Deep silence was in the woods, save for the strange, passionate churring of a night-jar, where he leaned low from a pine branch and called to his mate, whose heart throbbed a flight-away amid the dewy shadows.
The wind was still. The white rays of the stars wandered over the moveless, over the shadowless and breathless green lawns of the tree-tops.
“What is that sound?” said Ardanna, a dim shape in the darkness, where she lay in the arms of Cathal.
“I know not,” said the youth; for the fevered blood in his veins sang a song against his ears.
“Listen!”
Cathal listened. He heard nothing. His eyes dreamed again into the silence.
“What is that sound?” she whispered against his heart once again. “It is not from the sea, nor is it of the woods.”