Joan took a long breath before this tremendous assertion. He had told her in so many words that he was fond of her; and he had mentioned it most casually as a point long since decided. Here was the question which she had asked herself so often answered once for all. Her heart leaped at tidings of great joy, and as she looked up into his face the man saw infinite wonder and delight in her own. Mind was adding beauty to flesh, and he, fast losing the artist's instinct before another, thought she had never looked so lovely as then. "Oh, Mister Jan, you'm fond o' me!" "Why, didn't you know it, Joan? Did it want my words to tell you so? Hadn't you guessed it?" He rose slowly and approached his picture. "Oh, how I wish this was a little more like my dream and like reality! I need inspiration, Joan; I have reached a point beyond which I cannot go. My colors are dead; my soul is dead. Something must happen to me or I shall never finish this." "Ban't you so well as you was?" "No, Joan, I'm not. A thing has come between me and my happiness, between me and my picture. I know not what to call it. Nature has sent it." "Then 'tis right an' proper, I s'pose?" "I suppose so, but it stops work. It makes my hand shake and my heart throb fast and my brains grow hot." "Can't 'e take no physic for't?" "Why, yes, but I hesitate." He turned to her and went close to her. "Let me look at you, Joan--close--very close--so close that I can feel your breath. It was so easy to learn the furze; it is so hard to learn you." "Sure I've comed out butivul in the picksher." "Not yet, not yet." He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes until she grew nervous and brushed her hand across her cheek. Then, without a second's warning, he bent down and kissed her on the mouth. "Mister Jan! How could 'e! 'Tis wrong--wrong of 'e! I'd never a thot--" She started from him, wild, alarmed, blushing hotly; and he shook his head at her dismay and answered very calmly, very seriously: "It was not wrong, Joan, or I should not have done it. You heard me ask to whom I should pray for inspiration, and Nature told me I must seek it from you. And I have." "You shouldn't never a done it. I trusted 'e so!" "But I had to do it. Nature said 'Kiss her, and you will find what you want.' Do you understand that? I have touched you and I am awake and alive again; I have touched you, Joan, and I am not hopeless and sad, but happy. Nature thought of me, Joan, when she made you and brought you into the world; and she thought of sweet Joan when she fashioned Jan. Believe it--you must believe it." "You did ought to a arsked me." "Listen. Nature let you live quiet in the country--for me, Joan. She let me live all lonely in the world--for you. Only for you. Can't you understand?" "You did ought to a arsked me. Kissing be wrong 'tween us. You knaws it, Mr. Jan."