They explored the island thoroughly, saw the changing views, and had refreshments. Aagot beamed. The walk in the bracing air had flushed her cheeks, her lips, her ears, even her nose; her eyes were sparkling gaily. She suddenly remembered that she had almost pouted in disappointment when she saw other people; what must Irgens have thought? "I was at first a little surprised to find so many people here," she said. "The reason was that you told me you had written some of your poems here, and I did not think you could have done that unless you had been entirely undisturbed." How she remembered! He gazed at her exultantly and answered that he had his own restful nook where nobody ever came. It was on the other side; should they go over? They went. It was certainly a restful place, a regular wilderness of rocks and heather and junipers, enclosed on two sides. Far in the distance could be seen a little glade. They sat down. "So this is where you sit and write!" she exclaimed. "It is strange to think of. Were you sitting here?" "About here. Do you know, it is refreshing to meet such a spontaneous interest as yours?" "Tell me, how do you write your things? Do the thoughts come to you without conscious effort?" "Yes, in a way. Things affect one pleasantly or otherwise, and the mood is there. But the trouble then is to make the words reflect the love or hate one's heart feels at the moment. Often it is useless even to try; one can never find words adequately to express that languid gesture of your hand, to define that evanescent thrill your laughter sends through one--" Slowly the sun sank; a tremor quivered through the trees, and all was still. "Listen," he said, "do you hear the noise boiling away yonder in the city?" He noted how her dress tightened across her knee; he followed the curving outline of her figure, saw how her bosom rose and sank, observed her face with the darling dimple and the somewhat irregular nose; his blood stirred and he moved closer to her. He spoke in fumbling, broken sentences: "This is now the Isle of the Blest, and its name is Evenrest. The sun is sinking; we are here--the world far off; it is exactly my dream of dreams. Tell me, does my voice disturb you? You seem so far away--Miss Lynum, it is useless to continue the struggle; I surrender to you. I lie at your feet and tell you this, although I have not moved--" The swift change in his expression, the low, vibrant, fervent voice, his nearness--for a moment she was completely, stupidly stunned. She looked at him for an instant without answering. Then her cheeks began to flame; she started to get up and said quickly: "But isn't it time to go?" "No!" he exclaimed. "No, don't go!" He took hold of her dress, flung his arm around her, and held her back. She struggled with face aglow, laughing uncertainly, making vain efforts to free herself. "You must be crazy," she said again and again; "have you completely forgotten yourself?"