ridge between the
country and the town, three thin white clouds trailed slowly towards the
west-like tired seabirds drifting exhausted far out from land on a sea
blue to blackness with unfathomable depth.

For an hour those two rode silently into the country.

"Have we come far enough?" Martin said at last.

Thyme shook her head. A long, steep hill beyond a little sleeping
village had brought them to a standstill. Across the shadowy fields a
pale sheet of water gleamed out in moonlight. Thyme turned down towards
it.

"I'm hot," she said; "I want to bathe my face. Stay here. Don't come
with me."

She left her bicycle, and, passing through a gate, vanished among the
trees.

Martin stayed leaning against the gate. The village clock struck one.
The distant call of a hunting owl, "Qu-wheek, qu-wheek!" sounded through
the grave stillness of this last night of May. The moon at her curve's
summit floated at peace on the blue surface of the sky, a great closed
water-lily. And Martin saw through the trees scimitar-shaped reeds
clustering black along the pool's shore. All about him the may-flowers
were alight. It was such a night as makes dreams real and turns reality
to dreams.

'All moonlit nonsense!' thought the young man, for the night had
disturbed his heart.

But Thyme did not come back. He called to her, and in the death-like
silence following his shouts he could hear his own heart beat. He passed
in through the gate. She was nowhere to be seen. Why was she playing him
this trick?

He turned up from the water among the trees, where the incense of the
may-flowers hung heavy in the air.

'Never look for a thing!' he thought, and stopped to listen. It was so
breathless that the leaves of a low bough against his cheek did not stir
while he stood there. Presently he heard faint sounds, and stole towards
them. Under a beech-tree he almost stumbled over Thyme, lying with her
face pressed to the ground. The young doctor's heart gave a sickening
leap; he quickly knelt down beside her. The girl's body, pressed close
to the dry beech-mat, was being shaken by long sobs. From head to foot
it quivered; her hat had been torn off, and the fragrance of her hair
mingled with the fragrance of the night. In Martin's heart something
seemed to turn over and over, as when a boy he had watched a rabbit
caught in a snare. He touched her. She sat up, and, dashing her hand
across her eyes, cried: "Go away! Oh, go away!"

He put his ar