They were tired and ravenously hungry; but their happiness of soul was keener even than any physical sensation, and they sat leaning upon their elbows and gazing across the table, reading the wonder in each other’s eyes. “It has been a year since we parted!” whispered Corydon. “Just a year!” he said. “It seems like ten of them.” “And do you remember, Thyrsis, how we prayed! How we prayed for this very hour!” He took her hands in his. Once more they renewed their pledges of devotion; once more the vision of their hopes unrolled before them. “From now on,” he whispered, “our life is our own! We can make it whatever we will. Let us make it something beautiful.” And so there they made a compact. They would speak no more of the year that was past; it was a bad dream, and now it was gone. Let it be swept from their thoughts, and let them go on to make the future what they desired it to be. BOOK XII THE TREADMILL _They sat in the little cabin, where she had been reading some lines from the poem again-- “O easy access to the hearer’s grace When Dorian shepherds sang to Proserpine!” “Ah, yes!” he said. “But our lot was cast in a different time.” She put her hand upon his. “Even so,” she said; and then turned the page, and read once more-- “What though the music of thy rustic flute Kept not for long its happy, country tone; Lost it too soon, and learnt a stormy note Of men contention-tost, of men who groan, Which task’d thy pipe too sore, and tired thy throat-- It failed, and thou wast mute! Yet hadst thou always visions of our light!_” Section 1. The _mise-en-scéne_ of their new adventure in domesticity was a tent eighteen feet by twelve; but as the side-walls were low, they could walk only in the centre, and must range their belongings at the sides. To the left, as one entered the tent, there stood a soapbox with a tiny oil-stove upon it; and then a stand, made out of a packing-box, to hold their dishes, their cooking-utensils and their limited supply of provisions. Next down the line came a trunk, and in the corner the baby’s crib--which had been outgrown by the farmer’s children, and purchased by Thyrsis for a dollar. At the rear was a folding-table, and above it a board from which Corydon hung her clothing; along the other wall were her canvas cot, and a little stand with some books, and a wash-stand and another trunk.