watched her approach as though she were some invisible fate,--and
a tremor shook his limbs as she drew nearer ... still nearer! He
could see her distinctly now, all but her face,--that was in
shadow, for her head was bent and her eyes were downcast. Her
long, fair hair flowed in a loose rippling mass over her shoulders
... she wore a wreath of the Ardath flowers, and carried a cluster
of them clasped between her small, daintily shaped hands. A few
steps more, and she was close beside him--she stopped as if in
expectation of some word or sign ... but he stood mute and
motionless, not daring to speak or stir. Then--without raising her
eyes--she passed, ... passed like a flitting vapor,--and he
remained as though rooted to the spot, in a sort of vague, dumb
bewilderment! His stupefaction was brief however--rousing himself
to swift resolution, he hastened, after her.

"Stay! stay!" he cried aloud.

Obedient to his call she paused, but did not turn. He came up with
her. ... he caught at her robe, soft to the touch as silken gauze,
and overwhelmed by a sudden emotion of awe and reverence, he sank
on his knees.

"Who, and what are you?" he murmured in trembling tones--"Tell me!
If you are mortal maid I will not harm you, I swear! ... See! ...
I am only a poor crazed fool that loves a Dream, ... that stakes
his life upon a chance of Heaven, ... pity me as you are gentle!
... but do not fear me ... only speak!"

No answer came. He looked up--and now in the rich radiance of the
moon beheld her face ... how like, and yet how altogether unlike