THIRTEENTHROUGH my dreams I was aware of my body’s glowing and my heart’s happiness. I wakened in the intimation of breaking dawn, although the clapboard over the window showed no crack, and the round glass set in the door—long ago salvaged from a wreck—had the merest haze of gray. I rose stealthily, opened the door, and looked out. The wind was down, the rain had ceased and a ghostly presage of light lay over the moors. I returned and kept vigil over my lover until the dawn came through our doorway and I could see his face.
He was sleeping very deeply and many little pleasantries of love were required to waken him. The stillness after the storm, the light growing in the doorway, and the freshness of the air, became symbolic of the morning of the world. Until that morning Eve had not know
