They scarcely heeded whither they rode at first, being only
anxious to get away, turning once westward when the spire of
Chichester cathedral rose suddenly near them out of the dewy
night, pale and intricate and high. They rode, speaking little,
just a rare word now and then, at a turning, at a footfall, at a
roughness in the road.
She seemed to be too intent upon escape to give much thought to
him, but after the first tumult of the adventure, as flight
passed into mere steady ridin@@ his mind became an enormous
appreciation of the position. The night was a warm white silence
save for the subtile running of their chains. He looked sideways
at her as she sat beside him with her ankles gracefully ruling
the treadles. Now the road turned westward, and she was a dark
grey outline against the shimmer of the moon; and now they faced
northwards, and the soft cold light passed caressingly over her
hair and touched her brow and cheek.
There is a magic quality in moonshine; it touches all that is
sweet and beautiful, and the rest of the night is hidden. It has
created the fairies, whom the sunlight kills, and fairyland rises
again in our hearts at the sight of it, the voices of the filmy
route, and their faint, soul-piercing melodies. By the moonlight
every man, dull clod though he be by day, tastes something of
Endymion, takes something of the youth and strength of Enidymion,
and sees the dear white goddess shining at him from his Lady's
eyes. The firm substantial daylight things become ghostly and
elusive, the hills beyond are a sea of unsubstantial texture, the
world a visible spirit, the spiritual within us rises out of its
darkness, loses something of its weight and body, and swims up
towards heaven.
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