She was silent.

“And then you kissed me—­”

“Oh, John! how wicked of you—­why did you keep so still?”

“I waited—­longing.”

“For what?”

“Hoping you would kiss me again.”

“What! twice?” she cried.  “How could you think I would kiss you twice—­I was so ashamed—­”

“Well, Leila?”

She began to feel that she was perilously close to tears, as he said softly, “Leila Grey!”

“John Penhallow, will you take me—­oh, John!  I love you.”

He caught her hand and touched it with his lips reverently.

“If,” she cried, “if you do not give me back my kiss, I shall die of shame.”

He bent over her and kissed her forehead lightly, as though he were in fear of too familiar approach to a thing too sacred for a rude caress.  A great surf-like rush of comprehension swept over the woman.  “Was I so loved as this—­so honoured?” Then she said suddenly, “You are pale—­are you in pain?” for she saw him grasp the wounded arm and set his teeth.

“Yes, yes—­sometimes—­when things happen—­it wakes up and reminds me.  I shall be better in a moment.  Take care”—­for her arms were around him—­“I think, dear, I am not yet as strong as I shall be—­but love is a great tonic, and—­I can bear no more to-night.  I am in pain.  I fear this has been too much for me.”

Then he kissed her on lips that took it as a great draft from the fountain of youth and love.  “To-morrow, dear, we will ride together—­in the morning.  Ah, together!”

“Where—­Jack?”

“Oh, into fairyland!  God bless you!  Great Heavens, how beautiful you are!  Good-night!”

She fell into a seat as he went out, and heard his feet on the stair—­then he stood beside her again.

“Leila, forgive me—­I was hard—­uncourteous—­to make you say—­”

“Hush!” she cried, between tears and laughter, as she put her hand over his mouth, “no one shall abuse my Jack—­not even Captain Penhallow.  There, sir!  I deserved it.”  She ran by him, and was gone.

I have not the pass-words into fairyland, and where they rode that morning in September is not within my knowledge; nor can I say what adventures they may have met with.  The byways of this enchanted land here and there by ill-luck come near to the haunts of men, who may catch glimpses of such as ride through fairyland unsuspicious of other eyes.  Billy neglectful of mails this morning, was on the river bobbing for eels.  To be long attentive to anything was for him impossible, wherefore his wandering gaze caught sight for a moment through the fringe of willows of two people riding slowly.  He saw with amazement that on horseback in fairyland the feat of kissing is possible.

Some hours later, my lovers, feeling as John wickedly quoted, that “the world is too much with us,” rode into Westways to get Billy’s neglected mail.

Mr. Crocker, lean and deaf, at ease in charge of the grocery counter, sat unoccupied in his shirt sleeves, while Mrs. Crocker bent over the mail she had sorted.  There were letters for the little group of village folk, who read them at once as they sat on the step or as they moved away stumbling along the sidewalk.