He began to walk up and down the glade¹ as though he were in the cloisters² at Paradise, and Mellis did not hinder him or try to persuade him any further.  
She rose up, put the food that was left back into the saddle-bags, and took the horses down to the spring to drink. When she returned to the glade Martin Valliant was still walking up and down, his hands gripping the bosom³ of his smock. He did not look at her, and his face had grown gray in the dusk.
 
Mellis fastened the two horses to a tree for the night, and taking Fulk de Lisle’s sword, she set about gathering⁴ bracken. The western sky was streaked⁵ with amber⁶, and the light was growing dim; yet as Mellis used the sword a faint glimmer⁷ shone from it, like the glimmer of a star. The bracken was all feathery blackness under the great trees, falling to the sharp blade as she swung it from right to left. The sweet, wild scent⁸ of the fern was like a plaintive⁹ memory. The sword made hardly a sound as it cut through the tall stems.
 
Martin had paused, and was watching her. She showed as a dim figure in the dusk, with white face and hands. And even this strange labor¹⁰ of hers seemed part of the mystery of the Forest and of life, so much so that he felt enveloped¹¹ by it, caught in some enchantment¹². What was she doing? And why did every act of hers take on a strange significance?
 
He saw Mellis set the sword in the ground, and gather up a bosomful of bracken. She came past him as he stood, and her eyes were dark and inscrutable. She threw the bracken down under the oak tree, and went back for more. Then Martin understood.
 
A shiver of emotion went through him; he found himself trembling at the knees. What a silence was this about them! What a falling of the night! What secrecy¹³! What enchantment! The sunset had died on the hills; nothing but a faint afterglow remained, and above the trees the stars were beginning to shine.
 
Martin moved to and fro, but all his thoughts were with Mellis, and her gathering of the fern. She had taken the sword and had cut more bracken. The thick green riding-cloak that had been strapped¹⁴ behind her saddle served to carry the stuff; she spread the cloak on the ground, piled bracken on it, drew the two ends together, and carried the bundle to the oak tree. Mellis made a dozen such journeys to and fro, till she had built up a deep bed of the soft green fronds¹⁵.
 
Martin saw her spread her cloak on the bracken and set Fulk de Lisle’s sword in the ground at the head thereof.
 
He turned away, and as he turned she called to him.
 
“Martin, are you still thinking?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“And it is all so simple!”
 
He heard her sigh, and his heart <............