Definitely, in this hour, for her now, upon this stretch of the mortal path, Ian became the sun.
Ian sat daffing, talking.

The old woman listened, her wheel idle; the young woman listened.

The young woman, sitting half in shadow, half in light, put up her hand and drew farther over her face the brim of her wide hat of country weave.

She wished to hide her eyes, her lips.

She sat there pale, and through her ran in fine, innumerable waves human passion and longing, wild courage and trembling humility.
The sunlight that flooded the door-stone and patched the cottage floor began to lessen and withdraw.