"Columbine!" he said. "Witch! Enchantress! Queen!"

The red blood raced into her face. Her eyes shone into his with a sudden
glory--the glory of the awaking soul. But the woman-instinct in her
checked the first quick impulse of surrender.

She made a little motion away from him. She laughed and veiled her eyes
from the fiery adoration that flamed upon her. "The magic is
working--evidently," she said. "What a good thing I brought you here!"

"Yes; it is a good thing," he said, and in his voice she heard the deep
note of a mastery that would not be denied. "Do you know what you have
done to me, you goddess? You have opened the eyes of my heart. I am
dazzled. I am blinded. I believe I am possessed. When I paint my picture
--it will be such as the world has never seen."

"Hadn't you better begin it?" whispered Columbine.

He held out his hand to her--a hand that was not wholly steady. "Not
yet," he said. "The vision is too near, too wonderful. How shall I paint
the rapture that I have hardly yet dared to contemplate? Columbine!"

His voice suddenly pleaded, and as though in answer she laid her hand in
his. But she did not raise her eyes. She palpitated from head to foot
like a captured bird.

"You are not--afraid?" he whispered.

"I don't know," she whispered back. "Not of you--not of you!"