there he gazed in front of
him, unconscious now of any coherent thought.

Suddenly he was startled by a laugh so near him and so soft that he
believed himself to be dreaming, but he looked round and quickly rose to
his feet, and there at the other side of the tree he saw standing the
ethereal figure of a girl, while her filmy gray garments seemed to melt
into the night.

"Halcyone!" he gasped. "And from where?"

"Ah!" she said as she came towards him. "You have invaded my kingdom.
Mortal, what right have you to the things of the night? They belong to
me--who know them and love them."

"Then have compassion upon me, sweet dryad!" he pleaded, "who am but a
pilgrim who cannot see his way. Let me shelter under your protection and
be guided aright."

She laughed again--a ripple of silver that he had not guessed her voice
possessed. Her whole bearing was changed from the reserved, demure and
rather timid creature whom he knew. She was a sprite now, or a nymph, or
even a goddess, for her brow was imperious and her mien one of assured
command.

"This is my kingdom," she said, "and if you obey me, I will show you
things of which you have never dreamed--" and then she came towards the
tree and sat upon the high forked branch of the broken bough while she
pointed with shadowy finger to the part which was a bench. "Sit there,
Man of Day," she ordered, "for you cannot see beyond your hand. You
cannot know how the living things are creeping about, unafraid now of
your cruel power. You cannot discern the difference in the colors of the
fresh young bracken and the undergrowth; you cannot perceive the birds
asleep in the tree."

"No, indeed, Lady of Night," he said, "I admit I am but a mole, but you
will let me perceive them with your eyes, will you not?"

She slipped from her perch suddenly, before he could put out a
protesting hand to stop her, and glided out of his view into the dark of
the copse, and from there he heard the intoxicating silver laughter
which maddened his every sense.

"Halcyone! Witch!" he called. "Come back to me--I am afraid, all alone!"

So she came, appearing like a materializing wraith from the shadow, and
with an undulating movement of incredible grace she was again seated
upon her perch, the fallen forked branch of the tree.

John Derringham was experiencing the strongest emotion he had ever felt
in his life.

A maddening desire to seize the elusive joy--to come nearer--to assure
himself that