touched by this strong, comely young man. She seemed to be gazing down
into a mysterious, unfathomable abyss, and thinking, "I could hurl
myself in, if I chose."

"We shall be seen," she murmured half audibly.

Though not encouraging his embrace, she yet did not shrink from it;
such passive surrender excited him the more.

"One word, just one!" whispered Sarudine, as he crushed her closer to
him, his veins throbbing with desire; "will you come?"

Lida trembled. It was not the first time that he had asked her this
question, and each time she had felt strange tremors that deprived her
of her will.

"Why?" she asked, in a low voice as she gazed dreamily at the moon.

"Why? That I may have you near me, and see you, and talk to you. Oh!
like this, it's torture! Yes, Lida, you're torturing me! Now, will you
come?"

So saying, he strained her to him, passionately. His touch as that of
glowing iron, sent a thrill through her limbs; it seemed as if she were
enveloped in a mist, languorous, dreamy, oppressive. Her lithe, supple
frame grew rigid and then swayed towards him, trembling with pleasure
and yet with fear. Around her all things had undergone a curious,
sudden change. The moon was a moon no longer; it seemed close, close to
the trellis-work of the veranda, as if it hung just above the luminous
lawn. The garden was not the one that she knew, but another garden,