the place, she seemed to vanish absolutely in front of his eyes, and
although he lit a match and searched everywhere, not the slightest trace
of her could he find, and there was no opening or possible corner into
which she could have disappeared.

Absolutely dumbfounded, he groped his way back to the bench, and sitting
down buried his head in his hands. Surely it was all a dream, then, and
he had been drunk--with the Professor's Falernian wine--and had wandered
here and slept. But, God of all the nights, what an exquisite dream!




CHAPTER XVIII


The half-moon set, and the night became much darker before John
Derringham rose from his seat by the bench. A stupor had fallen upon
him. He had ceased to reason. Then he got up and made his way back to
the orchard house, under the myriads of pale stars, which shone with
diminished brilliancy from the luminous, summer night sky.

Here he seemed to grow material again and to realize that he was indeed
awake. But what had happened to him? Whether he had been dreaming or no,
a spell had fallen upon him--he had drunk of the poison cup. And
Halcyone filled his mind. He thrilled and thrilled again as he
remembered the exquisite joy of their tender embrace--even though it had
been no real thing, but a dream, it was still the divinest good his life
had yet known.