"Mora," he said, "it is long since thou and I last walked together over
the sunny fields, amid buttercups and cowslips, and the sweet-smelling
clover. To-night we walk beneath the fields instead of through them.
We are under the grass, my sweet. I seem to stand beside thee in the
grave. And truly my hopes lie slain; the promise of our love is dead,
and shall soon be buried. Yet thou and I still live, and now must walk
together side by side, the sad ghosts of our former selves.
"So now I ask thee, Mora, for the sake of those past walks among the
flowers, to lay thy hand within my arm and walk with me in gentle
fellowship, here in this place of gloom and darkness, as, long ago, we
walked among the flowers."
His dark eyes searched her face. An almost youthful eagerness vibrated
in his voice.
She hesitated, lifting her eyes to his. Then slowly moved toward him
and laid her hand within his arm.
Then, side by side, they paced on through the darkness; he, in his
right hand, holding the lantern, swinging low, to light their feet;
she, leaning on his left arm, keeping slow pace with him.
Over their heads, in the meadows, walked lovers, arm in arm; young men
and maidens out in the gathering twilight. All nature, refreshed,
poured forth a fragrant sweetness. But the rose, with its dewy petals,
seemed to the youth less sweet than the lips of the maid. This, he
shyly ventured to tell her; whereupon, as she bent to its fragrance,
her cheeks reflected the crimson of those delicate folds.
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