ngton's phrase, "nocturnal mystery," was a
reminder of the scene through which he had passed thus far unheeding,
and suggested its kinship with the woman of his thoughts. The vista
seemed to stretch away interminably, disclosing unexpected glimpses of
colour where the boughs displayed their changing leaves within the
radius of an electric light. Between the lights the darkness gathered
with the greater intensity because of the clouds which had now
traversed the whole expanse of the sky and bidden the stars from view.
He was conscious also of the ceaseless murmuring of the wind in the
leaves, like many voices whispering in an unknown tongue.

CHAPTER V

THE CANDIDATE

Leigh awoke the next morning with a sense that some profound change had
come into his life. His mood was similar to that of a man on the verge
of a trip to foreign lands, who, with all the humdrum existence that
had earned it behind him, and all the delights of adventure before,
waits only the turn of wind or tide to be away. The comparison is not
inept, for he had lived laborious days, postponing deliberately or
missing by chance, he scarcely knew which, the experience he now felt
to be impending. His time of life was peculiarly favourable for the
growth of a master passion, one which, as the old saying has it, might
make or mar him. The feverish struggles of early youth had landed him
in a position somewhat better than that attained by the majority of his
contemporaries. He had reached a breathing-place, where he could pause
with a sense of deeds accomplished and of possible rewards in the
future.

A realisation of the fact that his circumstances and position fairly
justified him in entertaining seriously the thought of love lessened in
no way the ideality of that thought. It was not because Felicity
Wycliffe was the first attractive woman to come into his life at the
right moment that he had fallen in love with her. He told himself that
he could have met any other woman in the world at that time with
impunity; and, conversely, had he met her years before, when his suit
must needs have been hopeless, he would have loved her no less,
reckless of worldly considerations. As it was, he did not feel that
the situation was conventional, but that the fates were kind. His
desire, and the right to strive for its attainment, had synchronised by
happy chance.

In the history of a passion, it is doubtful if any mood is more elysian
than that w