too busy with the scene of enchantment he had recently left. A
catalpa-tree threw its shadow on the moon-lighted curtain. He began to
count the wavering leaves, in hopes the monotonous occupation would
induce slumber. After a while he forgot to count; and as his spirit
hovered between the inner and the outer world, Floracita seemed to be
dancing on the leaf shadows in manifold graceful evolutions. Then he
was watching a little trickling fountain, and the falling drops were
tones of "The Light of other Days." Anon he was wandering among
flowers in the moonlight, and from afar some one was heard singing
"Casta Diva." The memory of that voice,

"While slept the limbs and senses all,
Made everything seem musical."

Again and again the panorama of the preceding evening revolved through
the halls of memory with every variety of fantastic change. A light
laugh broke in upon the scenes of enchantment, with the words, "Of
course not, for she was a quadroon." Then the plaintive melody of
"Toll the bell" resounded in his ears; not afar off, but loud and
clear, as if the singer were in the room. He woke with a start, and
heard the vibrations of a cathedral bell subsiding into silence. It
had struck but twice, but in his spiritual ear the sounds had been
modulated through many tones. "Even thus strangely," thought he, "has
that rich, sonorous voice struck into the dream of my life,"

Again he saw those large, lustrous eyes lowering their long-fringed
veils under the ardent gaze of Gerald Fitzgerald. Again he thought of
his mother, and sighed. At last a dreamless sleep stole over him, and
both pleasure and pain were buried in deep oblivion.