"I don't know; you forget I was a boy when I left them."

"And you're sure you never knew any?"

"None."

The young girl seemed to derive some satisfaction in moving her feet
up and down for several minutes among the grasses in the hollow; then,
after a pause, said, "You are quite certain I am the first woman that
ever touched this spring?"

"Not only the first woman, but the first human being, except myself."

"How nice!"

They had taken each other's hands; seated side by side, they leaned
against a curving elastic root that half supported, half encompassed,
them. The girl's capricious, fitful manner succumbed as before to the
near contact of her companion. Looking into her eyes, Low fell into a
sweet, selfish lover's monologue, descriptive of his past and present
feelings towards her, which she accepted with a heightened color, a
slight exchange of sentiment, and a strange curiosity. The sun had
painted their half-embraced silhouettes against the slanting tree-trunk,
and began to decline unnoticed; the ripple of the water mingling with
their whispers came as one sound to the listening ear; even their
eloquent silences were as deep, and, I wot, perhaps as dangerous, as the
darkened pool that filled so noiselessly a dozen yards away. So quiet
were they that the tremor of invading wings once or twice shook the
silence, or the quick scamper of frightened feet rustled the dead grass.
But in the midst of a prolonged stillness the young man sprang up so