And, at that, the ganglion that I have mentioned, that does duty for my heart, leaped for joy, so that I was nigh to choking. And indeed, though it is but a ganglion, it knows its duty well, and leaps for joy or aches with sorrow as well as the best-behaved heart in the world. I have not known the ache for sorrow since the day of my clambake; but it can make a man very wretched. And I am convinced that it can ache for pure joy, too--although that is a different ache, with happiness in it. So I smiled back at her. “Almost late,” I said, “is just in time. Late has no”-- “Adam, Adam,” she cried, “are you become a grammarian? Grammarians are tiresome. And I must go, for I have an engagement”-- “No, no,” I answered, in haste; for though in my heart I knew well she did but jest, yet I feared to lose her. “There is small danger that I shall become a grammarian. I have put all that behind me. It gets farther behind me with every day that passes. And your engagement is with me.” She laughed, a low, sweet laugh. “Yes,” she said, “it was.” And we sat there, silent, and Eve gazed at the sun, that was near his setting, and he gazed back at her. He set no longer behind the bearded hill,--the time was passed for that,--but there were other hills, and he must set behind them, for that is his destiny. And if any should say to me that I do but ill to speak thus of his destiny, for that his destiny is a greater than that; and if that one should hint of some hypothesis or other concerning the life and death of the universe,--they may have a new one now--they may get up a new one every week, for aught I know or care; for what is the death of the universe to me?--I should answer such an one in this wise: “Go to, you speak foolishly. For have I not seen him every evening of my life, that he sets in the west? Talk not to me of any hypothesis. I know what I know.” And I was leaning on my elbow, down upon the sod, and idly gazing at the sun, and idly gazing up at Eve. But I gazed at Eve the more. And the west was all golden, with a soft haze everywhere that left nothing with sharp outlines, and the sun was set, like a great yellow diamond, in its midst. It was one of those days--come a month or more before its time--when the whole earth seems to drowse and doze and breathe forth peace. “Eve,” I said softly, for I almost feared lest I break the spell that was upon us. She turned to me, but did not speak. “Would you have me analyze those colors that we see? I might make shift to do it. Would this soft light be more beautiful to you”-- “Oh, no, no,” she cried. “Let it be. See, the sun is almost down. Stand beside me, Adam.”