stirs all humanity at times. "Why should I not take you to live
with me for always to be my wife? who would forbid me?"

Merla shook her head, and pressed hard on his hand lying beside her
on the sand.

"The sun cannot lift the black rock from the desert and take it to
dwell in the blue spaces; neither can the sun stay with the rock.
You are grieving for me; do not. I am quite happy. I accept what
must be. My life ends when you go."

For a wild moment it seemed to Stanhope that he must dare
everything and take her. After all, she was intelligent: she could
be educated. She was beautiful, youthful; and what a love she
poured out at his feet!--different in calibre, in nature,
different, from its root up, from any love he could hope to find
again--a love that asked absolutely nothing for itself, not even
the right to live, and yet would give its all unquestioningly,
unsparingly. It is not a toy to be thrown away lightly, and
Stanhope realised this.

"The blue spaces are cold and empty, Merla," he said, suddenly
catching her to his breast. "You must come with me."

"No, lord, it is impossible; you speak only for me," whispered
Merla, though she clasped his neck tightly. "You must go and live
happy, and I shall die happy; even in my grave I shall remember
your kisses."

* * * * *

An hour later, the moon was well up in the sky, though the light
was not yet brilliant, and they parted by the wall of the
cattle-byre with promises to meet on the morrow, and he turned and
left her standing in the shadow; but some instinct moved him, and
he returned and kissed her yet again, and said one more farewell;
then he took the narrow track leading down to the river, and Merla
knew that she must hasten home; for her father, who had been out in
the early evening, would be returning. Before she left she turned
back once more into the byre, and stood looking at the stars that
she had communed with so often: a great sadness fell on her
thoughts, a chill as after a final parting. As she turned to go,
her eyes fell on a grey patch on the byre floor--his coat! He had
left it behind. Merla gave a little laugh as she picked it up: the
parting seemed less final now. She would keep it till the morrow.
Would he want it? miss it? No, the night was so still and sultry;
and, throwing it over her arm, she passed onwards to her hut.

As she neared the enclosure, her heart beat rapidly. A light was
burning within t