and rolling and running; fell rather than plunged into the river, and
came to himself, as before, lying on the grassy bank in the garden.

But when he opened his eyes, there were no girl-eyes looking down into
his; there were only the stars in the waste of the sunless Night--the
awful all-enemy he had again dared, but could not encounter. Perhaps
the girl was not yet come out of the water! He would try to sleep, for
he dared not move, and perhaps when he woke he would find his head on
her lap, and the beautiful dark face, with its deep blue eyes, bending
over him. But when he woke he found his head on the grass, and
although he sprang up with all his courage, such as it was, restored,
he did not set out for the chase with such an _elan_ as the day
before; and, despite the sun-glory in his heart and veins, his hunting
was this day less eager; he ate little, and from the first was
thoughtful even to sadness. A second time he was defeated and
disgraced! Was his courage nothing more than the play of the sunlight
on his brain? Was he a mere ball tossed between the light and the
dark? Then what a poor contemptible creature he was! But a third
chance lay before him. If he failed the third time, he dared not
foreshadow what he must then think of himself! It was bad enough
now--but then!

Alas! it went no better. The moment the sun was down, he fled as if
from a legion of devils.

Seven times in all, he tried to face the coming night in the strength
of the past day, and seven times he failed--failed with such increase
of failure, with such a growing sense of ignominy, overwhelming at
length all the sunny hours and joining night to night, that, what with
misery, self-accusation, and loss of confidence, his daylight courage