She glowed over them,
fascinated by their virile pride. Struan watched her more than her
treasures. He was pale still, and bit his lip; had nothing to say.
She knelt and took one of the great stalks tenderly in her hand. A kind of
rapture, was upon her, a mystic's ecstasy. She passed her closed hand up
and down, feeling the stiff smoothness: she clasped and pressed the
bursting bud. "Feel it, Struan, feel it," she said. "It's alive." He
turned, shaking, away.
"They say," she went on, caressing the bud, "that this is really the Lily
of the Annunciation. It's a symbol, I've read. Gabriel held one in his
hand when he stood before Our Lady. Did you know that?"
Glyde broke out. "Don't. Don't. Come away. I must speak to you--quickly--
if I dare. Come away from here."
He spoke fiercely, meaning what he said. Grave, sobered, she rose and
followed him. He drew her after him to the yew-tree walk, to the enclosure
at its end, where the leaden Faun capered and grinned. There he faced her.
"You must leave this place," he said shortly. She looked to the ground.
"I know," she replied in a low voice.
"Every moment you stop here insults you, puts shame upon you. Shame! And
on you! It's not bearable.
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