in
the London streets--Winnie's!

And then there appeared in the eastern cleft of the gorge on the
other side of the llyn, illuminated as by a rosy steam, Winnie! Amid
the opalescent vapours gleaming round the llyn, with eyes now
shimmering as through a veil--now flashing like sapphires in the
sun--there she stood gazing through the film, her eyes expressing a
surprise and a wonder as great as my own.

'It is no phantasm--it is no hallucination,' I said, while my
breathing had become a spasmodic, choking gasp.

But when I remembered the vision of Fairy Glen, I said, 'Imagination
can do that, and so can the glamour cast over me by Sinfi's music. It
does not vanish; ah, if the sweet madness should remain with me for
ever! It does not vanish--it is gliding along the side of the llyn:
it is moving towards me. And now those sudden little ripples in the
llyn--what do they mean? The trout are flying from her shadow. The
feet are grating on the stones. And hark! that pebble which falls
into the water with a splash; the glassy llyn is ribbed and rippled
with rings. Can a phantom do that? It comes towards me still.
Hallucination!'

Still the vision came on.

When I felt the touch of her body, when I felt myself clasped in soft
arms, and felt falling on my face warm tears, and on my lips the
pressure of Winnie's lips--lips that were murmuring, 'At last, at
last!'--a strange, wild effect was worked within me. The reality of
the beloved form now in my arms declared itself; it brought back the
scene where I had last clasped it.

Snowdon had vanished; the brilliant morning sun had vanished. The
moon was shining on a cottage near Raxton Church, and at the door two
lovers were standing, wet with the sea-water--with the sea-water
through which they had just waded. All the misery that had followed
was wiped out of my brain. It had not even the cobweb consistence of
a dream.

When, after a while, Snowdon and the drama of the present came back
to me, my brain was in such a marvellous state that it held two
pictures of the same Winnie as though each hemisphere of the brain
were occupied with its own vision. I was kissing Winnie's sea-salt
lips in the light of the moon at the cottage door, and I was kissing
them in the morning radiance by Knockers' Llyn. And yet so
overwhelming was the mighty tide of bliss overflowing my soul that
there was no room within me for any other emotion--no room for
curiosity, no room even for wond