This new face which Nature turned to him was a glorified face, and some way _it meant what he meant_.
St.George was off for a few steps, trampling impatiently over the coarse grass of the bank.

Somewhere in that dim valley--was she there, was she there?
Was she in trouble, did she need him, did she think of him?
St.George went through the ancient, delicious list as conscientiously as if he were the first lover, and she were the first princess, and this were the first ascent of Yaque that the world had ever known.

For by some way of miracle, the mystery of the island was suddenly to him the very mystery of his love, and the two so filled his heart that he could not have told of which he was thinking.

That which had lain, shadowy and delicious, in his soul these many days--not so very many, either, if one counts the suns--was become not only a thing of his soul but a thing of the outside world, almost of the visible world, something that had existed for ever and which he had just found out; and here, wrapped in nameless light, lay its perfect expression.

When a shaft of silver smote the long grass at his feet, and the edge of the moon rose above the mountain, St.George turned with a poignant exultation--did a mere victory over half a continent ever make a man feel like that ?--and strode back to the others.
"Come on," he called ringingly in a voice that did everything but confess in words that something heavenly sweet was in the man's mind, "let's be off!" Amory was carefully lighting his pipe.
"I feel sort of tense," he explained, "as if the whole place would explode if I threw down my match.