And from this region of the flower-life comes, of course, the legend that fairies have emotions that last for ever, with eternal youth, and with loves that do not pass away to die. This, too, they understood. Because the measurement of existence is a mightier business than with over-developed humans-in-a-hurry. For knowledge comes chiefly through the eye, and the eye can perceive only six times in a second--things that happen more quickly or more slowly than six times a second are invisible. No man can see the movement of a growing daisy, just as no man can distinguish the separate beats of a sparrow's wing: one is too slow, and the other is too quick. But the daisy is practically all eye. It is aware of most delightful things. In its short life of months it lives through an eternity of unhurrying perceptions and of big sensations. Its youth, its loves, its pleasures are--to it--quite endless.... "I can see the old sun moving," she murmured, "but you will love me for ever, won't you?" "Even till it sinks behind the hills," he answered, "I shall not change." "So long we have been friends already," she went on. "Do you remember when we first met each other, and you looked into my opening eyes?" He sighed with joy as he thought of the long, long stretch of time. "That was in our first reckless youth," he answered, catching the gold of passionate remembrance from an amber fly that hovered for an instant and was gone. "I remember well. You were half hidden by a drop of hanging dew, but I discovered you! That lilac bud across the world was just beginning to open." And, helped by the wind, he bent his shining head, taller than hers by the sixtieth part of an inch, towards the lilac trees beside the gravel path. "So long ago as that!" she murmured, happy with the exquisite belief in him. "But you will never change or leave me--promise, oh, promise that!" His stalk grew nearer to her own. He leaned protectively towards her eager face. "Until that bud shall open fully to the light and smell its sweetest," he replied--the gesture of his petals told it plainly--"so long shall you and I enjoy our happy love." It was an eternity to them. "And longer still," she pleaded. "And longer still," he whispered in the wind. "Even until the blossom falls." Ah, it was good to be alive with such an age of happiness before them! He felt the tears in her voice, however; he knew there was something that she longed to tell. "What is your sadness?" he asked softly, "and why do you put such questions to me now? What is your little trouble?" A moment's hesitation, a moment's hanging of the graceful head the width of a petal's top nearer to his shoulder--and then she told him. "I was in darkness for a time," she faltered, "but it was a long, long time. It seemed that something came between us. I lost your face. I felt afraid." And his laughter--for just then a puff of wind passed by and shook his sides for him--ran across many feet of lawn.