Then after the question had been asked and happily answered, neither could speak for joy; and because of the silence all the sounds of nature outside became almost painfully distinct.

Now he remembers how he heard in that room the sound of the wind in far-away trees, the singing of a bird--he also remembers all the colours and the lights of the day.

But it was very, very long ago, and she is dead.

Still, the memory is so clear and bright in his heart that it is as if time had stood still, or as if she had come back from the grave.

Only one thing assures him that it is but a memory--he is alone.
Returning now to the subject of love's illusion in itself, let me remind you that the illusion does not always pass away--not at all.