A pool of moonlight lay without its arches, and he stepped into it
as if coming out of the shadows of an enchanted garden. He stood and
straightened himself as if throwing off that garden's spell. He put
back his shoulders and took a quick step down the lane.

A slight sound drew his eyes back.

She had followed him to the gate; she stood there, in the moonlight,
against the inky wells of shadow into which her black robe flowed,
and in the moonlight her face, gazing after him, was an exquisite,
ethereal apparition, like a spirit of the garden.

She had cast off her veil. He had a vision of her dark eyes shining
over rose-flushed cheeks, of deeper-rose-red lips in curves of
haunting sweetness, of the tender contour of her young face, fixed
unforgettingly in the radiant moonlight--only an instant's vision,
for while the blood stopped in his veins the darkness engulfed her,
like a magician's curtain.

But he waited while he heard the gate closed. Still he waited while
he heard her locking it. And then for all his hot young pride, he
turned back and knocked upon it. He called softly. He whispered
entreaties.

Not a sound. Not an answer.

In a revulsion of feeling he turned and made his way blindly from
the lane.

She had heard his voice. Like a creature utterly spent, she had been