"Would you--won't you come out for a little stroll, Chloris? Run for your shawl, there is a dear girl, and let us go over to the beach. It isn't really late, and I am so restless, and I don't want to go alone, and it is so stuffy in my room at home." Chloris, without a word of demur, took her wrap and followed him. They walked side by side in silence; the sense they must have in common of the beauty of the night might at first take lieu of conversation; when that sense must be outworn, they still thought their thoughts in silence. Chloris knew the relief it is not to pretend; Damon thought only of himself in this hour. It was she, after a while, that led--tall, slender figure a step ahead of him, walking swiftly, with a sort of intrepidity. With his head a little bowed, his hands behind him, he followed. She led him to the beach, and without regard for time or fitness of things, farther and farther along the smooth sands, away from home; then, by a long loop, back to the homeward road, as if with the determination to tire him out. She herself was conscious of no fatigue. She felt like a spirit; her uplifted eyes seemed so expanded that they could take in all the radiant firmament. At last, as if awaking, he stopped and vaguely looked about, saying, "I am ready to drop! Good Lord, how far have you been taking me? Let us sit down a moment and rest." They were not far from home, on the edge of a familiar pine-grove that ran down to the lapping inland sea. She sank on the dry pine-needles; he dropped beside her, and, tearing off his cap, unquestioningly laid his head in her lap. "Does it ache?" she asked, softly. "Yes," he murmured. "Rub it."