The pomp and magnificence of sunset
were in abeyance to-night, were laid aside. And the sun, like some
spirit modestly radiant, slipped from this world of vineyards and of
waters almost surreptitiously, yet shedding exquisite influences in
his going.
And in the vineyards, as upon the dusty highroad, the people of the
South were singing.
The sound of their warm voices, rising in the golden air towards the
tender beauty of the virginal evening sky, moved Artois to a sudden
longing for a universal brotherhood of happiness, for happy men on a
happy earth, men knowing the truth and safe in their knowledge. And he
longed, too, just then to give happiness. A strongly generous emotion
stirred him, and went from him, like one of the slanting rays of light
from the sun, towards the island, towards his friend, Hermione. His
reluctance, his sense of fear, were lessened, nearly died away. His
quickness of movement was no longer a fight against, but a fulfilment
of desire.
Once she had helped him.
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