The sun sank low in the west, and the whole world was very still. Peter Swartz had fallen asleep under his apple tree in the orchard¹, and the white blossom scattered² itself on him as he slept.  
A great wonder had overtaken Martin Valliant. He had eased himself of his harness and gone down to a little grassy³ place where willows⁵ cast a net of shadows over the brown water. He stood there, leaning against the trunk of a willow⁴ tree, listening to the birds singing in the valley that shone like a great bowl of magic gold. The west was all afire, and throwing a strange glory over the woods, so that the tall trees seemed topped with flame. Not a breath of wind stirred in the leaves or grasses.
 
And Martin Valliant’s heart was full of a strange, listening awe⁶. He looked at the still water, the burning trees, the glimmering⁷ meadows, and there seemed no sadness anywhere, but only deep exultation⁸ and a sob⁹ of wonder in the throat. His face shone under the soft green of the willows. This place was the new Paradise, and a woman’s eyes looked out of the window of Heaven.
 
A voice called to him.
 
“Martin, Martin!”
 
A spasm¹⁰ of emotion shook Martin Valliant’s soul. He spread his arms, and raised his face to the sunset. If to love a woman was sin, then God was a devil, and the Lord Christ had never walked the earth.
 
He heard Mellis come singing through the orchard where Peter Swartz slept under the apple trees. The sound of her voice quickened his love almost to anguish¹¹. He dared not go to her for the moment or meet those dark eyes of hers.
 
“Martin Valliant!”
 
She came out from the shadows of the orchard, and saw him standing¹² there, his right arm covering his face. Her heart faltered¹³ for a beat or two, and then quickened with a rush of wonder and awe.
 
Mellis went toward him, her eyes mysterious and full of soft, tremulous light. Martin heard her footsteps and her gown sweeping¹⁴ the grass. He uncovered his face, and it was all white and strange and radiant.
 
For a moment they looked at each other with mute timidity. There seemed nothing that could be said, for the great mystery of life had touched them.
 
Then Mellis spoke¹⁵, and her words were no louder than a light wind moving in the trees.
 
“I do not know what the day has done to me. But I could sit in the long grass and listen to the birds singing, and watch the sunset on the water, and never speak nor move.”
 
“It is very wonderful,” he said, “for all the joy of the world seems in this valley.”
 
“I could touch no food to-night but honey and white bread, and moisten my lips with the dew.”
 
She heard Martin draw in his breath.
 
“And presently the soft dusk will come, and the day will die. But there will be the stars, and a silver sheen on the water, and a silence that waits—and listens——”
 
Her face dreamed.
 
“Come.”
 
He followed her, found himself at her side, moving through the long grass that rustled¹⁶ under their feet. He was no more a body, but a soul that burned with yearning¹⁷ and a great white glory. And Mellis’s hair was as black as the night.
 
She led him into the garden, and there he saw their table strewn with flowers. She had set out bread, and wine, and honey. His helmet lay in the midst on a cushion of green leaves, and she had bound it about with a spray of red roses taken from the old rose bush.
 
Mellis pointed¹⁸ a finger.
 
“Even the roses bloomed for us to-day. And there is your crown of victory.”
 
He stretched out a hand and touched hers timidly, as though he were afraid.
 
“Mellis——”
 
Her hand closed on his with a sudden thrill of tenderness.
 
“Is not life good? Do you fear to look at me, Martin?”
 
“You have stepped out of h............