'As God lives and reigns, so live thou and so reign, queen of me, my Picardy rose.' She tried no more that night, fearing that his love so keen-edged might make his will ride rough.

The watch-fires at Louviers trembled and streamed up in the north.

There was no need for candles in the Dark Tower.
They rose up early to a fair dawn.

The cloud-wrack was blown off, leaving the sky a lake of burnt yellow, pure, sweet, and cool.

Thus the world entered upon the summer of Saint Luke, to a new-risen sun, to thin mists stealing off the moor, to wet flowers hearted anew, to blue air, and hope left for those who would go gleaning.