He saw the colour and the light, and he uttered only her name--"Jacqueline, Jacqueline!" A moment, and they were in each other's arms.
It was their golden hour.

Neither thought of right or wrong, of the conditions of life beyond their ring of box, of wisdom or its contrary.
It was as though they had met in the great void of space, the marvel called man and the wonder that is woman, each drawn to each over the endless fields and through the immeasurable ages.

Each saw the other transfigured, and each wished for lover and companion the other shining one.
They moved to the summer-house, and sat down upon the step.

About them was the Seven Sisters rose, and above towered the tulip tree with a mockingbird singing in its branches.

The place was filled with the odour of the box.