So still was the night that a man might hear the voice of his heart and a girl the throb of hers. And they were alone; or only the friendly murmur of old Blent was with them, seeming to whisper congratulations on their joy. Her arm was through his, very white on his sleeve, and she leant on him heavily. "After tempests, dear," said he. "There shall be no more, no more, Harry." "Oh, I don't know that. I shall like you in them perhaps. And there may be one more, anyhow." "You're laughing, Harry?" "Why, yes, at anything just now." "Yes, at anything," she murmured. "I could laugh--or cry--at anything just now." They came to the little bridge and passed on to it. "We talked here the first evening," said she. "And how you puzzled me! It began for me then, dear Harry." "Yes, and for me a little sooner--by the Pool for me. I was keeping you out of your own then." "Never mine unless it could be yours too." Fallen into silence again, they reached the road and, moved by the same instinct, turned to look back at Blent. The grip of her hand tightened on his arm. "There's nothing that would make you leave me?" she whispered. "Not you yourself, I think," said he. "It's very wonderful," she breathed. "Listen! There's no sound. Yes, after tempests, Harry!" "I am glad of it all," he said suddenly and in a louder tone. "I've been made a man, and I've found you, the woman for me. It was hard at the time, but I am glad of it. It has come and it has gone, and I'm glad of it." He had spoken unwarily in saying it was gone. But she thought he spoke of his struggle only and his hesitation, not of their cause. "You gave when you might have kept; it is always yours, Harry. Oh, and what is it all now? No, no, it's something still. It's in us--in us both, I think." He stopped on the road. "Come no farther. The fly's only a little way on, and while I see you, I will see nobody else to-night. Till the morning, dearest--and you won't fail?" "No, I won't fail. Should I fail to greet my first morning?" He pushed the hair a little back from her forehead and kissed her brow. "God do so unto me and more also if my love ever fails you," said he. "Kiss me as I kissed you. And so good-night." She obeyed and let him go. Once and twice he looked back at her as he took his way and she stood still on the road. She heard his voice speaking to the flyman, the flyman's exhortation to his horse, the sounds of the wheels receding along the road. Then slowly she went back. "This is what they mean," she murmured to herself. "This is what they mean." It was the joy past expression, the contentment past understanding. And all in one evening they had sprung up for her out of a barren thirsty land. Blent had never been beautiful before nor the river sparkled as it ran; youth was not known before, and beauty had been thrown away. The world was changed; and it was very wonderful.