gratification of the moment's desire. The sinking fire of youth blazed up
afresh. He would get the utmost out of this last night of revelry.
Wherever he went, a spirit of wild daring, of fevered gaiety, surrounded
him. He was no longer alone, whichever way he turned. Once in his mad
progress he met Sheila Melrose face to face, and she drew back from him
in open disgust. He laughed at her maliciously, mockingly, as his royal
forefather might have laughed long ago, and passed on with the throng.

Hours later, when the _fête_ was over and the shore quite silent under
the stars, he came alone along the quay, moving with his own peculiar
arrogance of bearing, a cigarette between his lips, a deep gleam in his
eyes. It had been an amusing night after all.

Crossing the gangway to his yacht--_The Night Moth_--that rocked softly
on the glimmering ripples, he paused for a moment and turned his face as
if in farewell towards the little town that lay sleeping among its
cypress-trees. So standing, he heard again the tinkle of a lute from some
hidden garden of delight. It was as if the magic were still calling to
him, luring him, reaching out white arms to hold him. He made a brief bow
towards the sound.

"_Adieu_, most exquisite and most wicked!" he said. "I return--no more!"

The cigarette fell from his lips into the dark water and there came a
faint sound like the hiss of a serpent in the stillness. He laughed as he
heard it, and pursued his way aboard the yacht.

He found a young sailor, evidently posted to await his coming, snoring in
a corner, and shook him awake.