divine country in which the nightingale may be heard at odd seasons.
Psyche stirred again. With a reverence chaste and simple he gave her a second kiss, deep and slow. The solemn sacrament was fire to the soul of an artist. And then he gave a little gasp. The high gods in his brain whispered that the moon was coming.
The moon was coming.
Yes, there she was, the sovereign lady! He sat very still, praying, praying that he might surprise some holy secret, hidden even from Duclaux.
She was very wonderful to-night. Her loveliness was more than he could bear. There was a touch of intimacy in her magic; the country over which she shone was elfland. He seemed to hear a faint familiar sound of horns. Or it might have been the swift gliding of the car.
In the quietness of the spirit's ecstasy he could have wept.
Might it be given to Duclaux to see her, lovely lady, just as he could see her now!
But he mustn't dare to breathe or the vision would be forever lost.
THE END
