It was a queer procession came up our path, some foreign-looking sailors, and they carried a man on a sort of stretcher, and Moira walked alongside of him. I saw three things about him the same way you see a whole country in a flash of lightning. One was that he was the strangest, the most beautiful man I had ever looked on, and I saw that he was dying. Then in the next breath I knew he belonged to Moira more than anyone on earth ever had or would. Then all of a sudden it was as if a hand caught hold of my heart and squeezed the blood from it like water out of a sponge, for all at the same time I saw that they hadn't been born at the right time for each other and that they had only a moment to look into each other's faces--before the darkness of death could swallow him. I couldn't bear it. I wanted to cry out to God that this miracle had come to pass only to be wiped out like a mark in the sand. He was as different from anyone I'd ever seen as Moira was. How can I say to you what I saw and felt. I knew that he belonged to Moira and Moira belonged to him. If I'd have met him at the ends of the earth I'd have known that they belonged together. We all dream about things like this when we're young--about there being a perfect love for us somewhere on earth--but there isn't, because we're not good enough. The perfect flower can't bloom in most gardens. What these two had was love beyond love--the thing that poor, blundering mankind's been working for and straining toward all down the ages. Love was what they had, not dimmed and tarnished, not the little flicker that comes for a moment and is gone, like in most of our lives, but the pure fire. The love that mankind tries to find in God--the final wonder. Some of us, at most, have a day or hour--a vision that's as far off and dim as northern lights. Mis' MacFarland and me looked at each other and, without saying anything, we walked from the room. I saw tears streaming down her face and then I realized that I couldn't see for my own, I was crying the way you may do twice in your life, if you're lucky, because you've seen something so beautiful, poor, weak human nature can't bear it. After a long time Mis' MacFarland spoke. "It has to happen on earth, once in a while," she said, "the heart's desire to millions and millions of people living and dead--the dream of all who know the meaning of love. Sometimes it must come true." That's how it made me feel, and I've always wanted to be a witness to what I saw--but there aren't many to whom you dare to tell it. After a time we went back and he was lying there, his face shining like Moira's had when she'd found him in the dark spaces where she'd had to search for him. His hair was like dark silver, and his eyes were young like Moira's and blue as the sea at dawn. Wisdom was what was in his face, and love--and he lay there, quiet, holding Moira's hand in his.