Soon you will be a dream to me again.
But never, never, dear, since the magic brush painted the blue into the skies, the purple on to the heather, the green on to the grass, the yellow into the gorse, the blue into your eyes, was there any love like mine!" She leaned towards him.

Her fingers were cold and her voice trembled.
"You must not!" she begged.
He smiled as he passed his arm around her.
"Are we not on the hill top, dear ?" he said.

"You need have no fear.
Only to-night I felt that I must say these things to you, even though the passion which they represent remains as ineffective forever as the words themselves.

I have a feeling, you know, that after to-day things will be different." "Why should they be ?" she asked.

"In any case, your time cannot come yet." Once more he looked downward into the valley.