He kept saying the same things in scarcely different words, as if he knew nothing else. He had a childish soul and a limited mind behind the perfect sculpture of his forehead and his great black eyes, in which I saw distinctly the white face of the woman floating like a swan. She listened to him devoutly, her mouth half open, her head thrown back lightly. Had he not held her, she would have slipped to her knees before this god who was as beautiful as she. "The memory of you saddened my joys, but consoled my sorrows." I did not know which of the two said this. They embraced vehemently. They reeled. They were like two tall flames. His face burned hers, and he cried: "I love you, I love you! All through my sleepless nights of longing for you--oh, what a crucifixion my solitude was! "Be mine, Anna!" She radiated consent, but her eyes faltered, and she glanced round the room. "Let us respect this room," she breathed. Then she was ashamed at having refused, and immediately stammered, "Excuse me." The man also looked around the room. His forehead darkened with a savage frown of suspicion, and the superstition of his race shone in his eyes. "It was here--that he died?" "No," she said. * * * * * * * * * Afterwards they did as the others had done, as human beings always do, as they themselves would do many times again in the strange future--they sat with their eyes half-closed and the same uneasy look of shame and terror in them as Amy and her lover. But these two required no artificial stimulus for their love. They had no need of the night. And they felt no culpability. They were two grand young creatures, driven together naturally by the very force of their love, and their ardour cleansed everything, like fire. They were innocent. They had no regrets and felt no remorse. They thought they were united. He took her soft hand in his dark hand, and said: "Now you are mine for always. You have made me know divine ecstasy. You have my heart and I have yours. You are my wife forever." "You are everything to me," she answered. They went forth into life like a couple in legend, inspired and rosy with anticipation--he, the knight with no shadows falling on him except the dark of his hair, helmeted or plumed, and she, the priestess of the pagan gods, the spirit of nature. They would shine in the sunlight. They would see nothing around them, blinded by the daylight. They would undergo no struggles except the strife of the sexes and the spying of jealousy; for lovers are enemies rather than friends. I followed them with my eyes going through life, which would be nothing to them but fields, mountains, or forests. I saw them veiled in a kind of light, sheltered from darkness, protected for a time against the fearful spell of memory and thought. . . . . .