"It will take you some time to read that, Mr. Alwyn," he gently
observed. "You have written more than you know."

Alwyn roused himself and looked straight at the speaker. Putting
down his manuscript and resting one hand upon it, he gazed with an
air of solemn inquiry into the noble face turned steadfastly
toward his own.

"Tell me," he said wistfully, "how has it happened? This
composition is mine and yet not mine. For it is a grand and
perfect poem of which I dare not call myself the author! I might
as well snatch HER crown of starry flowers and call myself an
Angel!"

He spoke with mingled fervor and humility. To any ordinary
observer he would have seemed to be laboring under home strange
hallucination,--but Heliobas was more deeply instructed.

"Come, come! ... your thoughts are wide of this world," he said
kindly. "Try to recall them! I can tell you nothing, for I know
nothing. ... you have been absent many hours."

"Absent? yes!" and Alwyn's voice thrilled with an infinite
regret. "Absent from earth.. ah! would to God I might hive stayed
with her, in Heaven! My love, my love! where shal I find her if
not in the FIELD OF ARDATH?"