o the faint rays of light from the house. She had her
two hands folded over her breast as though holding something precious
there, and her face was rapt. He had never before seen her in that
odd, sheathlike garment of silver-grey velvet. It gave her, he
thought, with that brooding look on her face and her faintly smiling
mouth, an air of moon-like mysteriousness. Almost as silently as a
moonbeam, she slid into the veranda and would have passed on into her
room but that he put his arms round her and drew her to his heart.

The thought had come over him suddenly to test her courage and coolness
thus, and she did not disappoint him. For a moment he felt her heart
fluttering like a wild bird against his; then she gave a little low
laugh.

"Oh, Denis!" she whispered, against his lips. But when he let her go
he saw that her face was white as milk.

"You _were_ frightened, then?" he questioned.

"No, no; I knew at once it was you--by the scent of your dear coat."
She stroked it with one hand, then made to move away, but he still held
her. What had made her turn white, then, if she were not afraid?

"Let me go away and change my gown," she said, trying to edge away into
the dark.

"But why? I love it. You are like a witch of the moon in it."

"No; it isn't a nice gown," she insisted childishly and still tried to
escape, but he could be obstinate, too.

"I want you to keep it on--and, darling, darling, don't waste any of
the moments we may be together! You told me yourself it could only be
an hour."

She gave a deep sigh. It was true. Moments spent with him were too
precious to waste. There might not be so many more. Still, she did
not abandon her plan to get away from him to her room, if only for a
minute. Gently she resisted his half-movement to lead her to a chair.
He knew, by now, that she was holding something in her left hand which
she did not wish him to see. They remained standing by the tree-fern,
each will striving for supremacy. In the meantime, he went on speaking
in his extraordinary charming voice that had power to make her heart
ache with even the memory of its dear sound.

"Not that I can see why I should only have an hour."

"Mother will be back by ten," she said.

"Why shouldn't she know at once? I don't like this hole-and-corner
business, Rosanne. It is not good enough for you." He kissed her on
the lips, and added, "Or me."

Her face was in shadow, but his was not, and she