All the radiant mornings and heavenly nights, all the summer scents of flowers or hay or hedges in bloom, or new rain on the earth, were things felt just as that other one felt them and drew in their delights--exactly in the same way.
Once in the night stillness of a sweet dark country lane she had stood in the circle of Donal's arm, her joyous, warm young breast against his and they had heard together the singing of a nightingale in a thicket.
"Let us stand still," he had whispered close to her ear.

"Let us not speak a word--not a word.

Oh! little lovely love! Let us only _listen_--and be happy!" Almost every day there were marvels like this.

And when they were apart she could not forget them but walked like a spirit strayed on to earth and unknowing of its radiance.

This was why people glanced at her curiously and were sometimes vaguely troubled..