With a little sigh she leaned her head on his shoulder, and he held her close to him. 'Happy, Elise?' 'So happy,' she whispered, 'that I am afraid some day I shall find it isn't true.' He laughed gently, and for a few moments neither spoke, held by the wonderful intimacy of the spirit that does not need words for understanding. 'Austin dear,' she said at length, 'before you came out I was counting the stars--and playing with dreams. Don't think me silly, will you? But I was planning, if we have a son, what I should like to call him.' 'I think I know,' he said, pressing his lips against her hair. 'Dick?' 'And Gerard for his second name. I should want him to be strong and true like Gerard--but he must have Dick's eyes and Dick's smile. But, then, I want so much for this dream-boy of ours--for, most of all, he must be like my husband.' With a sudden shyness she hid her face against his breast, and he ran his hand caressingly over her arm, which was like cool velvet to the touch. The glimmering stars grew stronger, and a breeze from the sea crept murmuringly over the spring-scented fields. 'There are times,' he said, 'when I long for the power to reach out for the great truths that lie hidden in space and in the silence of a night like this--to put them in such simple language that every one could read and understand. If I could only translate the wonder of you and the spirit of the sea into words.' She looked up into his face, and something of the mystic blue of the skies lay in the depths of her eyes. IV. Late that night he resumed work in his study, but a thousand memories and fancies came crowding to his mind. He tried to shake them off, but they clung to him--memories of the war--memories of the times when the world was drunk with passion. He heard, as if afar off, the whine and shriek of shells, and he saw the dead--grotesque, silent, horrible. That was the great absurdity--_the dead_. It was hopeless to write. He was no longer pilot of his thoughts. He rose to his feet and threw open the door with an impatient desire for fresh air. Though the cool breeze refreshed his temples, the restlessness of his mind was only increased by the hush of nature's nocturne, through which the sound of the sea came like a drone. Beneath the canopy of that same sky the dead were lying. Across the seas a breeze of spring was stealing about the graves, as now it played about his face. What was his part towards them--to mourn, and fill his life with useless melancholy? To forget, and turn his face towards the future? Forget . . . ? 'There are times'--he found himself repeating mechanically the words which, a few hours before, he had spoken to Elise--'when I long for the power to reach out for the great truths--hidden in space--and in the silence of the night.' Suddenly his brow grew calm. The baffled, questioning look left his eyes, and he smiled strangely.