walls beset by the ghostly legion. Life and the world and the laws of the
sunlight had passed away, and the resurrection and kingdom of the dead
began. The Celt assailed him, becoming from the weird wood he called the
world, and his far-off ancestors, the "little people," crept out of their
caves, muttering charms and incantations in hissing inhuman speech; he
was beleaguered by desires that had slept in his race for ages.

"I am afraid you are very tired, Master Lucian. Would you like me to give
you my hand over this rough bit?"

He had stumbled against a great round stone and had nearly fallen. The
woman's hand sought his in the darkness; as he felt the touch of the soft
warm flesh he moaned, and a pang shot through his arm to his heart. He
looked up and found he had only walked a few paces since Annie had
spoken; he had thought they had wandered for hours together. The moon was
just mounting above the oaks, and the halo round the dark hill
brightened. He stopped short, and keeping his hold of Annie's hand,
looked into her face. A hazy glory of moonlight shone around them and lit
up their eyes. He had not greatly altered since his boyhood; his face was
pale olive in color, thin and oval; marks of pain had gathered about the
eyes, and his black hair was already stricken with grey. But the eager,
curious gaze still remained, and what he saw before him lit up his
sadness with a new fire. She stopped too, and did not offer to draw away,
but looked back with all her heart. They were alike in many ways; her
skin was also of that olive color, but her face was sweet as a beautiful
summer night, and her black eyes showed no dimness, and the smile on the
scarlet lips was like a flame when it brightens a dark and lonely land.

"You are sorely tired, Master Lucian, let us sit down here by the gate."