It was a night of splendour with a full moon uprising in majesty to fill the world with her soft radiance; a night very warm and still and we silent, I think because of the tender beauty of the night.
"Martin," says my companion softly at last, "here is another day sped--"
"Alas, and more's the pity!" quoth I.
"O?" says she, looking at me askance.
"Our days fly all too fast, Damaris, here is a time I fain would linger upon, an I might."
"It hath been a very wonderful time truly, Martin, and hath taught me very much. We are both the better for it, I think, and you--"
"What of me, comrade?" I questioned as she paused.
"You are grown so much gentler since your sickness, so much more my dear friend and companion."
"Why, 'tis all your doing, Damaris."
"I am glad--O very glad!" says she almost in a whisper.
"Why, 'tis you who have taught me to--to love all good, sweet things, to rule myself that I--I may some day, mayhap, be a little more worthy of--of--" here, beginning to flounder, I came to sudden halt, and casting about in my mind for a likely phrase, saw her regarding me, the dimple in her cheek, but her eyes all compassionate and ineffably tender.
"Dear man!" says she, and reached me her hand.
"Damaris," says I heavily and looking down at these slender fingers, yet not daring to kiss them lest my passion sweep me away, "you know that I do love you?"
"Yes, Martin."
"And that, my love, be it what it may, is yet an honest love?"
"Yes, dear Martin."
Here was silence a while, she looking up at the moon, and I at her.
"I broke my oath to you once," says I, "nor will I swear again, but, dear my lady, know this: though I do hunger and thirst for you, yet mine is such reverent love that should we live thus together long years--aye, until the end of our lives, I will school myself to patience and wait ever upon your will. Though 'twill be hard!" says I 'twixt my teeth, thrilling to the sudden clasp of her fingers.
"But, Martin," says she softly, "how if our days together here should all suddenly end--"
"End?" cries I, starting, "Wherefore end? When? Why end?" And I trembled in a sick panic at the mere possibility. "End?" quoth I again, "Would you have an end?"
"No--ah no!" says she leaning to me that I could look down into her eyes.
"Doth this--O Damaris, can this mean that you are happy with me in this solitude--content--?"