"If life's as terrible and strange as you say," Val whispered, drawing a little away, "and if this life's _all_, why, it's as clear as daylight, we'd be less than rational, we'd be stark mad, to let our little day of happiness go by. You see"--she crept closer to him again in the failing light, half crying--"it concerns only us. We'll live our perfect day, and when the evening comes we'll lie down--" "In each other's arms," he said, hiding his face in her loosened hair, his tortured mind turning with passion to the image of ultimate peace. "Yes." Sobbing faintly, she drew away that she might see his face. His voice had sounded strangely. "This is our compact," she said, and she kissed him on the lips. "Our betrothal," he answered, dreamily, as one who has set his lips to a philter. "Betrothal? Yes. I didn't know what a strange sound the word had. We must exchange rings. Oh, Fate, be kind to us!" She lifted up her face as she drew off the ring she wore. "You needn't be afraid to be kind. We are honest people. We'll keep faith. Ethan," she whispered, "they _can't_ grudge us so little as we ask." "The powers that be?" She nodded. "You said yourself that what we ask is more than many men and women find. A year with you"--he gathered her up to his breast--"a whole year of beautiful life and beautiful love without fear of the long decline! It's a dream to draw the very gods out of their heaven. Oh, be sure they'll be jealous of you and me." He kissed her again and again. "We mustn't let them be jealous. Where's your ring?" He drew off his signet, and took from her the little old band set with pearls and two small rubies. "Too little for me," he said, "and too--" He smiled at the obvious femininity of the old trinket. "It's not for you to keep. We must make a sacrifice. I'll give yours to the Spirit of the Air." She threw the signet as far up into the twilight as she could, and they both listened. "Yours is accepted," she said, triumphantly. "You must give mine to the Water." "Aren't you afraid the Earth will be jealous?" He held the ring over the side of the boat. "Oh, no; the Earth is patient; she knows we'll give her more than a ring. Why do you wait? The Water-spirit will be angry." "You never told me who gave you this." "It was my grandmother's engagement ring." "No; was it? If this ring hadn't been given, neither you nor I would be in the world." He dropped it into the river. They sat quite still, each knowing perfectly what new train had been started in the other's mind, and neither wanting to unpack the heart with words. A couple of boats came up the river, full of boys and girls, laughing and singing. When they got nearly opposite the pool their voices rang out plainly, complaining of the current, and suggesting turning back. "What a pity you asked me that about the ring!" Val whispered. "I'm not sure it was a pity, dear." The passion had gone out of his voice. "You _like_ her standing here between us?"