The warm scent¹ of the fir woods was about them, and a darkness that made their very thoughts seem secret and secure. They were the lovers of some ancient tale wandering in an old forest of enchantments², seeing each other’s faces pale and yearning³ in the dim light under the trees.  
Eve rested against Canterton’s outspread arm, her head upon his shoulder, as they wandered to and fro between the tall trunks of the firs. They were like ghosts gliding⁴ side by side, for the carpet of pine needles deadened the sound of their footsteps, and they spoke⁵ but little, in voices that were but murmurs⁶.
 
For a brief hour they were forgetting life and its problems, letting self sink into self, surrendering everything to an intimate exultation⁷ in their nearness to each other. Sometimes they would pause, swayed by some common impulse, and stand close together, looking into each other’s eyes.
 
They spoke to each other as a man and woman speak but once or twice in the course of a lifetime.
 
“Dear heart, is it possible that this is you?”
 
“Am I not flesh and blood?”
 
“That you should care!”
 
“Put your hand here. Can you not feel my heart beating?”
 
He would slip his hand under her head, draw her face to his, and kiss her forehead, mouth and eyes. And she would sigh with each kiss, closing her eyes in a kind of ecstasy⁸.
 
“Did you ever dream of me?”
 
“Often.”
 
“It sounds like a child’s question. Strange—I wonder if our dreams crossed. Did you ever dream while I was at Latimer?”
 
“Nearly every night.”
 
“And I of you. And all through the day you were with me. I felt you standing⁹ beside me. That’s why I painted Latimer as I did.”
 
Canterton had moments of incredulity and of awe¹⁰. He would stand motionless, hol............