"that all the things you will grasp with your hands are but dreams--and
the things that you now believe to be dreams are all real."

"And are you a dream, you sweet?" asked John Derringham. "Or are you
tangible, and must I drink the poison cup, after all?"

"I would give you no noxious wine," she answered. "If you were strong
and wise and true, only the fire which I have stolen from heaven could
come to you."

"Long ago," he said, "you gave me an oak-leaf, dryad, and I have kept it
still. What now will you grant to me?"

"Nothing, since you fear--" and she drew back.

"I do not fear," he answered wildly. "Halcyone!--sweetheart! I want
you--here--next my heart. Give me--yourself!"

Then he stretched out his arms and drew her to him, all soft and loving
and unresisting, and he pressed his lips to her pure and tender lips.
And it seemed as if the heavens opened, and the Night poured down all
that was divine of bliss.

But before he could be sure that indeed he held her safely in his arms,
she started forward, releasing herself. Then, clasping Aphrodite and her
silken folds, with a bound she was far beyond him, and had disappeared
in the shadow of the archway, on whose curve the last rays of moonlight
played, so that he saw it outlined and clear.

He strode forward to follow her, but to his amazement, when he reached