some state beyond ordinary experience--some place in romance, perhaps,
or among the hills where Bruenhild lay sleeping in her large bright halo
of fire. How could it be that he and Helena were two children of London
wandering to find their lodging in Freshwater? He sighed, and looked
again over the hills where the moonlight was condensing in mist
ethereal, frail, and yet substantial, reminding him of the way the manna
must have condensed out of the white moonlit mists of Arabian deserts.

'We may be on the road to Newport,' said Helena presently, 'and the
distance is ten miles.'

She laughed, not caring in the least whither they wandered, exulting in
this wonderful excursion! She and Siegmund alone in a glistening
wilderness of night at the back of habited days and nights! Siegmund
looked at her. He by no means shared her exultation, though he
sympathized with it. He walked on alone in his deep seriousness, of
which she was not aware. Yet when he noticed her abandon, he drew her
nearer, and his heart softened with protecting tenderness towards her,
and grew heavy with responsibility.

The fields breathed off a scent as if they were come to life with the
night, and were talking with fragrant eagerness. The farms huddled
together in sleep, and pulled the dark shadow over them to hide from the
supernatural white night; the cottages were locked and darkened. Helena
walked on in triumph through this wondrous hinterland of night, actively
searching for the spirits, watching the cottages they approached,
listening, looking for the dreams of those sleeping inside, in the
darkened rooms. She imagined she could see the frail dream-faces at the
windows; she fancied they stole out timidly into the gardens, and went
running away among the rabbits on the gleamy hill-side. Helena laughed