Were they trying to wake some votary who slept below?
A great twisted sentinel cypress kept its own dark counsel.

Against its shadow Fay's figure in her white gossamer gown showed more ethereal and exquisite even than in memory.
She seemed at one with this wonderful, passionate southern spring, which trembled between rapture and anguish.

The red roses and the white irises were everywhere.

Even the unkept grass in which her light feet were set was wild with white daisies.
"Do you remember our last walk on the down that day in spring ?" she said suddenly.
She had forgotten it until last night.
"I remember it." "It was May then.

It is May again now." He did not answer.