They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully.

“Isn't it more wonderful than ever?” she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew.

He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted.

“It is always more wonderful,” she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet.

So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste.

The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his