like music--like sunlight
through the fibrils of a plant, from flower to root. And this subtle
fusion made him know just what to say and do to satisfy her. It was this
new-lent instinct that had made him so still after the wild magic of
that kiss had set his blood and spirit singing. When she had whispered
at last: "Go now ... dear...." he had risen without a protest. It was
then he had knelt to put the fresh log on her fire. Afterwards he had
bent and touched his lips to her hands as they lay together in her
lap--then to the shining, fire-warmed tress that flowed over her
shoulder. He had gone out, closing the door noiselessly as though she
were in some mysterious trance, and he feared to waken her.

As in a trance himself, he had fetched Proud Aleck from the old stable.
The horse had nickered when he heard him coming. In the fragrant
darkness of the stable, Loring had thrown an arm over the bay's neck.
"You brought me to her this night...." he whispered. He drew the
horse's muzzle towards him, and pressed his lips to the broad front. He
continued for some moments leaning against the great horse that quivered
with impatience to be gone. He felt faint and languid. It was as if he
had really been only mortal and she a goddess. His mortality seemed to
fail under the bliss of this contact with immortality. It was as though
sudden godhead had been bestowed on him and his flesh were consuming
under it into a finer essence.

There was no pride as yet in his wonder. That beautiful humility of real
love still held him. He was not even exultant that his "will" had won at
last. He did not feel as though he had conquered but as though some
great Winged Victory had caught him up and set him on this height, with
its veil of golden mist. It was not the kingdoms of the earth that were
offered him--but the kingdoms of the air ... starry places ... Diana's
cloud-land ... hanging-gardens of the gods....

Loring was rapt into the ecstatic state of "conversion."... He was
experiencing all the giddily rapturous throes and exquisite frenzies of
what is known as "revelation"--only its cause was not divine but human
love. He moved in a vision of clear light. Like Sophy, he was a stranger
to himself, yet he felt that this new self was not really the stranger,
but that old self which lay dark and shrivelled at the roots of being,
like the husk of a seed, from which has sprung the triumphing
blossom.... He rode home as on a wind of dreams. The