What was it, indeed, that he had really wanted to know? the whole secret of her being, to be explained in a dozen words? He said to Olver, “It is night, it is cold; have they lost their way out on the hills?” Olver laughed at him. “Lost? They?” “They are only human!” cried Calladine, afraid. He got up and stood over Olver. “Tell me, they are human, aren’t they?” Olver laughed again. Calladine went to the door. He opened it and looked out; the cold met him, and the stars in the blackness. “Clare!” he cried. “Clare!” “I am going mad,” he said to himself. “I am going out of my mind.” Looking back into the hut, he saw Olver still on his knees on the floor, prodding at the meat over the lamp. He went back, bent down, and cried close to Olver’s ear, “What are we doing here? they are keeping us waiting.” “We don’t count,” replied Olver indifferently. He began his song again. He had taken his mirror from his pocket, and was squinting into it, at the reflection of the hut; on each beat of the measure, he nodded down towards it. “Her hair was tangled in the reeds. Her hair so gold and gay,” he sang. “Would you like to look into my mirror?” he asked Calladine. An idea took him; he scrambled to his feet. “They’re all afraid of my mirror,” he said. “_She_ wouldn’t look into it, for fear of what she might see there. But you shall look. Look into it now, and you’ll see them; you shall see them as they were in here, last night.” Calladine pushed him away; made him stagger against the wall of the hut. “You would see them! you would see them!” cried Olver, delighted. Neither of them noticed that the door had opened, and that Lovel stood in the hut. “Nicco!” cried Olver. Calladine wheeled round. Clare came into the hut, and her face shone out like Lovel’s, both golden in the light, both arrested in the midst of their carelessness. Lovel spoke to Calladine. “This was the only place we had,” he said, “couldn’t you leave it to us?” Clare looked at Calladine; her face wore that oblique, fugitive look which he had known, and loved, and dreaded. She turned to Lovel, and they swayed towards one another as though something drew them. “We had better go,” she said, inviting him. “Yes,” he replied, drifting idly on the stream of her will, of their common will, one with her. She gave him her hand, and in the gold light they hung briefly, transient creatures of eternal flight. The curtain of night and stars stretched behind them, in the rectangle of the open door. “The scenery is set!” cried Calladine hysterically, pointing with his hand. The rays of the lantern streamed out towards the snow, gilding a path up the whiteness, quickly lost into the dark. “They need no shelter,” cried Calladine. The hills were outside, waiting, and the stars, silent. “Why linger?” cried Calladine to Clare and Lovel.