“Nor afraid of the Cup,” finished Herman, “for I have come to feel that I have found something here in Outland that not even Forgetfulness can take away.... What I said to you the other night ... the door....” “Oh, I thought it was Zirriloë....” He stopped and considered. “... And that she had shut it again on cheapness and affronting shame.... It left a mark on me.” “Such experiences do, Herman.” “But she is gone ... and the door swings wide. It is open to-night; and that is what I have found here in Outland that I shall never let go again.” What he really had was my hand, which he seemed not to be aware of, beating it softly between his palms as he talked. I could hardly withdraw it without seeming to point an emphasis. “And being so sure of _that_,” said Herman, “makes it difficult to believe that all this should be taken away from us.” He made a gesture with the hand that held mine toward the swale of River Ward, the silvered line of the willows, the low moon, the fair light, the smell of the packed earth breaking up to bloom. “Do you know, it is very strange, Mona, I have not the least idea where we are, but I think I could start out to-night direct for home and find it. Have you ever felt so?” “Not since the Meet at Leaping Water.” “But to-night?” “To-night I feel it.” “How far away the Outliers seem to-night. Look down there in the hollow, there is not one stirring. How could one say there is now any grief or captivity down there? Mona, do you really believe there _are_ any Outliers?” “Ah, I’m good at believing.” The moon dropped down behind the hill till there was but one shining jewel point of it winking on the world. The chill that comes before the morning began to temper the air and I shivered under it. “You are cold,” cried Herman; “wait.” He slipped away in the scrub and brought back skins in which he wrapped me. “Have you had any sleep at all to-night? Where is your hand, Mona?” He drew it through his arm. “Now, if you will lean back against the oak here, and against my shoulder, so: now you may get some rest.” I leaned against the oak and touched his sleeve with my cheek. I had not meant to do more than that, nor yet to sleep, but the oak swayed a little comfortingly, so still and soft and dark the night was—suddenly there was the morning freshness and Trastevera calling me awake.