ht-flying things. And in the wood
there began a cruel bird-tragedy--some dark pursuit in the twilight
above the bracken; the piercing shrieks of a creature into whom talons
have again and again gone home; and mingled with them, hoarse raging
cries of triumph. Many minutes they lasted, those noises of the night,
sound-emblems of all the cruelty in the heart of Nature; till at
last death appeased that savagery. And any soul abroad, that pitied
fugitives, might once more listen, and not weep....

Then a nightingale began to give forth its long liquid gurgling; and a
corn-crake churred in the young wheat. Again the night brooded, in the
silent tops of the trees, in the more silent depths of the water. It
sent out at long intervals a sigh or murmur, a tiny scuttling splash, an
owl's hunting cry. And its breath was still hot and charged with heavy
odour, for no dew was falling....

XXI

It was past ten when they came out from the wood. She had wanted to wait
for the moon to rise; not a gold coin of a moon as last night, but ivory
pale, and with a gleaming radiance level over the fern, and covering the
lower boughs, as it were, with a drift of white blossom.

Through the wicket gate they passed once more beside the moon-coloured
wheat, which seemed of a different world from that world in which they
had walked but an hour and a half ago.

And in Lennan's heart was a feeling such as a man's heart can only know
once in all his life--such humble gratitude, and praise, and adoration
of her who had given him her all. There should be nothing for her now
but joy--like the joy of this last hour. She should never know less
happiness! And kneeling down before her at the water's edge he kissed
her dress, and hands, and feet, which to-morrow would be his forever.

Then they got into the boat.

The smile of the moonlight glided over each ripple, and reed, and
closing water-lily; over her face, where the hood had fallen back from
her loosened hair; over one hand trailing the water, and the other
touching the flower at her breast; and, just above her breath, she said:

"Row, my dear love; it's late!"

Dipping his sculls, he shot the skiff into the darkness of the
backwater....

What happened then he never knew, never clearly--in all those after
years. A vision of her white form risen to its feet, bending forward
like a creature caught, that cannot tell which way to spring; a crashing
shock, his head striking something hard! No