alighted upon him: the glory of the king of day crowded blazing upon
the golden-haired youth. Radiant as Apollo, he stood in mighty
strength, a flashing shape in the midst of flame. He fitted a glowing
arrow to a gleaming bow. The arrow parted with a keen musical twang of
the bowstring, and Photogen darting after it, vanished with a shout.
Up shot Apollo himself, and from his quiver scattered astonishment and
exultation. But the brain of poor Nycteris was pierced through and
through. She fell down in utter darkness. All around her was a flaming
furnace. In despair and feebleness and agony, she crept back, feeling
her way with doubt and difficulty and enforced persistence to her
cell. When at last the friendly darkness of her chamber folded her
about with its cooling and consoling arms, she threw herself on her
bed and fell fast asleep. And there she slept on, one alive in a tomb,
while Photogen, above in the sun-glory, pursued the buffaloes on the
lofty plain, thinking not once of her where she lay dark and forsaken,
whose presence had been his refuge, her eyes and her hands his
guardians through the night. He was in his glory and his pride; and
the darkness and its disgrace had vanished for a time.




CHAPTER XV.

THE COWARD HERO.


But no sooner had the sun reached the noonstead, than Photogen began
to remember the past night in the shadow of that which was at hand,
and to remember it with shame. He had proved himself--and not to