Trembling with keen triumph, his heart was white as a star as he drove his kisses nearer. “My love!” she called, in a low voice, from afar. The low sound seemed to call to him from far off, under the moon, to him who was unaware. He stopped, quivered, and listened. “My love,” came again the low, plaintive call, like a bird unseen in the night. He was afraid. His heart quivered and broke. He was stopped. “Anna,” he said, as if he answered her from a distance, unsure. “My love.” And he drew near, and she drew near. “Anna,” he said, in wonder and the birthpain of love. “My love,” she said, her voice growing rapturous. And they kissed on the mouth, in rapture and surprise, long, real kisses. The kiss lasted, there among the moonlight. He kissed her again, and she kissed him. And again they were kissing together. Till something happened in him, he was strange. He wanted her. He wanted her exceedingly. She was something new. They stood there folded, suspended in the night. And his whole being quivered with surprise, as from a blow. He wanted her, and he wanted to tell her so. But the shock was too great to him. He had never realized before. He trembled with irritation and unusedness, he did not know what to do. He held her more gently, gently, much more gently. The conflict was gone by. And he was glad, and breathless, and almost in tears. But he knew he wanted her. Something fixed in him for ever. He was hers. And he was very glad and afraid. He did not know what to do, as they stood there in the open, moonlit field. He looked through her hair at the moon, which seemed to swim liquid-bright. She sighed, and seemed to wake up, then she kissed him again. Then she loosened herself away from him and took his hand. It hurt him when she drew away from his breast. It hurt him with a chagrin. Why did she draw away from him? But she held his hand. “I want to go home,” she said, looking at him in a way he could not understand. He held close to her hand. He was dazed and he could not move, he did not know how to move. She drew him away. He walked helplessly beside her, holding her hand. She went with bent head. Suddenly he said, as the simple solution stated itself to him: “We’ll get married, Anna.” She was silent. “We’ll get married, Anna, shall we?” She stopped in the field again and kissed him, clinging to him passionately, in a way he could not understand. He could not understand. But he left it all now, to marriage. That was the solution now, fixed ahead. He wanted her, he wanted to be married to her, he wanted to have her altogether, as his own for ever. And he waited, intent, for the accomplishment. But there was all the while a slight tension of irritation. He spoke to his uncle and aunt that night. “Uncle,” he said, “Anna and me think of getting married.” “Oh ay!” said Brangwen. “But how, you have no money?” said the mother.