s that held the very
essence of poetry. Somehow he had always connected her with the moon.
Indeed, in her whiteness, her coldness, her aloofness, she seemed the
very sublimation of virginity. His first secret names for her were Diana
and Cynthia. But there was another quality in her that those names did
not include--intellectuality. His favorite heroes were Julius Caesar and
Edwin Booth--a quaint pair, taken in combination. In the long imaginary
conversations which he held with her he addressed her as Julia or
Edwina.

Days and days went by and he could discover no sign that she had noticed
him. It was typical of the "damned gentleman" side of Billy that he
did not try to attract her attention. Indeed, his efforts were ever to
efface himself.

One afternoon, after a long vigil in which, unaccountably, Julia had
not appeared, he started to return to camp. It was a late twilight and
a black, velvety one. The trees against a darkening curtain of sky had
turned to bunches of tangled shadow, the reefs and rocks against the
papery white of the sand to smutches and blobs of soot. Suddenly--and
his heart pounded at the sound--the air began to vibrate and thrill.

He stopped short. He waited. His breath came fast; the vibration and
thrill were coming closer.

He crystallized where he stood. It scarcely seemed that he breathed. And
then--.

Something white and nebulous came floating out of the dusk towards
him. It became a silver cloud, a white sculptured spirit of the air. It
became an angel, a fairy, a woman--Julia. She flew not far off, level
with his eyes and, as she approached, she slowed her stately flight.
Billy made no movement. He only stood and waited and watched. But
perhaps never before in his life had his eyes become so transparently
the windows of his soul. Quite as intently, Julia's eyes, big, gray, and
dark-lashed, considered him. It seemed to Billy that he had never seen
in any face so virginally young such a tragic seriousness, nor in any
eyes, superficially so calm, such a troubled wonder.

He did not stir until she had drifted out of earshot, had become again a
nebulous silver cloud drifting into the dusk, had merged with that dusk.

"What makes your eyes shine so?" said Honey, examining him keenly when
he reached camp.

It was the first time Billy had known Julia to fly low. But he
discovered gradually that only in the sunlight did she haunt the zenith.
At twilight she always kept close to the earth