She was wrapped in a kind of dressing-gown of some simple blue stuff, and all about her breast and shoulders streamed her lovely curling hair.

Her sweet face was towards him, its pallor relieved only by the long shadow of the dark lashes and the bent bow of the lips.
One white wrist and hand hung down almost to the floor, and beneath the spread curtain of the sunlit hair her bosom heaved softly in her sleep.
She looked so wondrously beautiful in her rest that he stopped almost awed, and gazed, and gazed again, feeling as though a present sense and power were stilling his heart to silence.

It is dangerous to look upon such quiet loveliness, and very dangerous to feel that pressure at the heart.

A truly wise man feeling it would have fled, knowing that seeds sown in such silences may live to bloom upon a bitter day, and shed their fruit into the waters of desolation.

But Geoffrey was not wise--who would have been?
He still stood and gazed till the sight stamped itself so deeply on the tablets of his heart that through all the years to come no heats of passion, no frosts of doubt, and no sense of loss could ever dull its memory.
The silent sun shone on, the silent woman slept, and in silence the watcher gazed.