The room was not the same. It
gazed back at her with a new expression. She felt as if bodily she, too,
had grown different--were looking at the old, familiar objects from a
child's stature. The plants in the windows seemed larger. They were like
a fairy forest. As the firelight caught the crimson and purple bells of
the fuchsias, they seemed to sway--to ring forth a faint, wild music....

She put her hands to her face. This racing of her fancy was like a light
fever. And now when she glanced up again, she saw the fuchsias like
strange insects flying among their leaves. Their scarlet stamens were
like the frail legs of wasps drooped for flight.... She went up and
touched one softly, to assure herself that it was a flower. Fuchsias
were never like other flowers to her after that night.

She broke one off and took it with her upstairs. Her bedroom also
greeted her with a new look. The fire was almost out. She kneeled down
to mend it. As the flame sprang to life again beneath her fingers, she
thought of "The Witch of Atlas": ".... Men scarcely know how beautiful
fire is...." She knew. She knelt there, adoring the delicate flame,
purest and fiercest of elements. Yes--fire was purity itself. This
lovely fire in her own heart purified her. She was a Phoenix ... the
ashes of her life were only a soft, pale nest from which she had risen
thus glorious. Or no--the Dark Goddess had lain her on the coals of pain
... now she was immortal. This white flame within her was
immortality....

She slept fitfully but deliciously that night. Every little while she
would start awake. It was as if he spoke to her, saying: "Wake,
beloved--I, too, am wakeful...." It was delicious to wake thus and drift
delicately backward on the tide of dreams into that haven of light,
rapturous sleep. Love hummed about her like a fairy bee and stung reason
to numbness. All night long, sleeping or waking, phantasy rocked her
softly. The warm, firelit air seemed abeat with the wings of the white
doves of Venus....

* * * * *

When she woke fully next morning, Sophy thought at first that she had
been dreaming. Then all came back to her. She started up in bed. Fright
seized her--sheer, panic-terror. What had she done and felt? What had
come to her?...

Mammy Nan had kindled a roaring fire, and thrown wide the shutters. The
brilliant January sun streamed over the carpet. The sky was blue and
bitter, without a cloud. Naked and una