very floor of heaven we rested,
thou and I, and saw the wide earth smiling in warm golden noons. It was
then thy hands first learned to cling to mine"--he raised her hands and
kissed them--"it was then thy head first leaned above my heart--ay, even
so long since, in the beginning of the world. Down all the after ages it
hath been the same; somewhere, somehow, we met; and each time of our
meeting there came to us a memory of dear dead days long gone, forgotten
until a breath from dim gardens where we wandered blew to us from the
past. Oh, but those days were long, each one a jewel of flame and azure,
strung on the golden chain of Time; and the nights were long, and warm,
and clear, and perfumed as thy hair. Our food was fruit and the nuts I
gathered; our wine the waters of clear brooks which thou drankest from
my hands. Ferns, deep and fragrant, made our couch."

He stopped abruptly.

"As my soul liveth, I can tell no more!" he said, and his voice was
shaken. "Sweet lady o' mine, urge me not, for thine own sake! Thou dost
not understand--how shouldst thou? Any tale I'll tell thee--any tale
save a tale of thee and me."

"That is the tale which I will have," said Varia, drowsily.

Nicanor smothered an exclamation.

"Child, canst not see that my hands tremble, that I burn with fever, and
am scarce master of myself?" His tone quickly changed and softened.
"There, then, I will not frighten thee! Only ask me not to try my
strength beyond its limit with that tale I taught thee to love and long
for--"

"Then I shall go," said Varia, with no smallest understanding of his
cry, and rose from the bench. But Nicanor was quicker than she. He
caught her hand and turned her half around to face him.

"Nay, I'll not let thee go!" he said unevenly. "The hour is mine, and
the night is mine--and I cannot let thee go!"

She sat down once more upon the bench, passively submissive as a child
to its elders' will. Nicanor dropped on one knee on the grass beside
her, his arms across her lap, his hands prisoning one of hers. His deep
voice lowered to a note of lingering tenderness that thrilled like the
strings of a harp gently touched.

"Oh, light of all the world to me!" he said softly. "If I but dared tell
thee of the thoughts that are mine, and the madness that is mine, and
the punishment for them that is mine also! Wouldst understand? Ay,
truly, I think so! For I'd tell it so that the deaf trees, that whisper
always and hear not--a