As they walked down the long sweep of the elm-avenue, the pair encountered the vicar coming to gather up his wife and sister for the evening drive, and the sight of the two fine young people gladdened the good man’s heart.  He beheld a tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped young man, with a frank handsome face, steady blue eyes, fair hair and determined jaw, a picture of the clean-bred, clean-living, out-door Englishman, athletic, healthy-minded, straight-dealing; and a slender, beautiful girl, with a strong sweet face, hazel-eyed, brown-haired, upright and active of carriage, redolent of sanity, directness, and all moral and physical health.

“A well-matched pair,” he smiled to himself as they passed him with a cheery greeting.

For a mile or two both thought much and spoke little, the man thinking of the brilliant, hated Unknown who would steal away his Lucille; the woman thinking of the coming separation from the friend, without whom life was very empty, dull, and poor.  Crossing a field, they reached a fence and a beautiful view of half the county.  Stopping by mutual consent, they gazed at the peaceful, familiar scene, so ennobled and etherealized by the moon’s soft radiance.

“I shall think of this walk, somehow, whenever I see the full moon,” said Dam, breaking a long silence.

“And I,” replied Lucille.

“I hate going away this time, somehow, more than usual,” he blurted out after another spell of silence.  “I can’t help wondering whether you’ll be—­the same—­when I come back at Christmas.”

“Why—­how should I be different, Dammy?” asked the girl, turning her gaze upon his troubled face, which seemed to twitch and work as though in pain.

“How?...  Why, you might be—­”

“Might be what, dear?”

“You might be—­engaged.”

The girl saw that in the man’s eyes to which his tongue could not, or would not, give utterance.  As he spoke the word, with a catch in his breath, she suddenly flung her arms round his neck, pressed her lips to his white face, and, with a little sob, whispered:—­

“Not unless to you, Dam, darling—­there is no other man in the world but you,” and their lips met in their first lover’s kiss....  Oh, the wonderful, glorious world!...  The grand, beautiful old world!  Place of delight, joy, wonder, beauty, gratitude.  How the kind little stars sang to them and the benign old moon looked down and said:  “Never despair, never despond, never fear, God has given you Love.  What matters else?” How the man swore to himself that he would be worthy of her, strive for her, live for her; if need be—­die for her.  How the woman vowed to herself that she would be worthy of her splendid, noble lover, help him, cheer him, watch over him.  Oh, if he might only need her some day and depend on her for something in spite of his strength and manhood.  How she yearned to do something for him, to give, to give, to give.  Their hour lasted for countless ages, and passed in a flash.  The world intruded, spoiling itself as always.