of a divine hand. Far away on the further;
bank throbbed some huge machine, not stilled as yet. A few stars were
out in the dark sky, but no moon to invest with pallor the gleam of the
lamps. Scarcely anyone passed. Miltoun strolled along the river wall,
then crossed, and came back in front of the Mansions where she lived. By
the railing he stood still. In the sitting-room of her little flat there
was no light, but the casement window was wide open, and the crown of
white flowers in the bowl on the window-sill still gleamed out in the
darkness like a crescent moon lying on its face. Suddenly, he saw two
pale hands rise--one on either side of that bowl, lift it, and draw it
in. And he quivered, as though they had touched him. Again those two
hands came floating up; they were parted now by darkness; the moon of
flowers was gone, in its place had been set handfuls of purple or crimson
blossoms. And a puff of warm air rising quickly out of the night drifted
their scent of cloves into his face, so that he held his breath for fear
of calling out her name.

Again the hands had vanished--through the open window there was nothing
to be seen but darkness; and such a rush of longing seized on Miltoun as
stole from him all power of movement. He could hear her playing, now.
The murmurous current of that melody was like the night itself, sighing,
throbbing, languorously soft. It seemed that in this music she was
calling him, telling him that she, too, was longing; her heart, too,
empty. It died away; and at the window her white figure appeared. From
that vision he could not, nor did he try to shrink, but moved out into
the, lamplight. And he saw her suddenly stretch out her hands to him,
and withdraw them to her breast. Then all save the madness of his
longing deserted Miltoun. He ran down the little garden, across the hall,
up the stairs.

The door was open. He passed through. There, in the sitting-room, where
the red flowers in the window scented all the air, it was dark, and he
could not at first see her, till against the piano he caught the glimmer
of her white dress. She was sitting with hands resting on the pale
notes. And falling on his knees, he buried his face against her. Then,
without looking up, he raised his hands. Her tears fell on them covering
her heart, that throbbed as if the passionate night itself were breathing
in there, and all but the night and her love had stolen forth.

CHAPTER