overpowering sense of youth--of the beauty of the world--of the mystery
of the future, beat through his pulses. The coming dance became a rite
of Aphrodite, towards which all his being strained.

Suddenly, there was a loud snapping noise, as of breaking branches in the
wood beside him. It was so startling that his hands paused on the oars,
as he looked quickly round to see what could have produced it. And at the
same moment the searchlight on the boathouse reached the spot to which
his eyes were drawn, and he saw for an instant--sharply distinct and
ghostly white--a woman's face and hands--amid the blackness of the wood.
He had only a moment in which to see them, in which to catch a glimpse of
a figure among the trees, before the light was gone, leaving a double
gloom behind it.

Mysterious! Who could it be? Was it some one who wanted to be put across
the pond? He shouted. "Who is that?"

Then he rowed in to the shore, straining his eyes to see. It occurred to
him that it might be a lady's maid brought by a guest, who had been out
for a walk, and missed her way home in a strange park. "Do you want to
get to the house? I can put you across to it if you wish," he said in a
loud voice, addressing the unknown--"otherwise you'll have to go a long
way round."

No answer--only an intensity of silence, through which he heard from a
great distance a church clock striking. The wood and all its detail had
vanished in profound shadow.

Conscious of a curious excitement he rowed still further in to the bank,
and again spoke to the invisible woman. In vain. He began then to doubt