There Nycteris sat, and there the youth lay, all night long, in the
heart of the great cone-shadow of the earth, like two Pharaohs in one
pyramid. Photogen slept, and slept; and Nycteris sat motionless lest
she should wake him, and so betray him to his fear.

The moon rode high in the blue eternity; it was a very triumph of
glorious night; the river ran babble-murmuring in deep soft syllables;
the fountain kept rushing moon-ward, and blossoming momently to a
great silvery flower, whose petals were for ever falling like snow,
but with a continuous musical clash, into the bed of its exhaustion
beneath; the wind woke, took a run among the trees, went to sleep, and
woke again; the daisies slept on their feet at hers, but she did not
know they slept; the roses might well seem awake, for their scent
filled the air, but in truth they slept also, and the odour was that
of their dreams; the oranges hung like gold lamps in the trees, and
their silvery flowers were the souls of their yet unembodied children;
the scent of the acacia blooms filled the air like the very odour of
the moon herself.

At last, unused to the living air, and weary with sitting so still and
so long, Nycteris grew drowsy. The air began to grow cool. It was
getting near the time when she too was accustomed to sleep. She closed
her eyes just a moment, and nodded--opened them suddenly wide, for she
had promised to watch.

In that moment a change had come. The moon had got round, and was
fronting her from the west, and she saw that her face was altered,
that she had grown pale, as if she too were wan with fear, and from