he side of the porch. It
was as though he had destroyed a malign influence, for, even as the
little white fragments went floating down into the shadow, a new hope
crept into his heart, and he went upstairs, arguing this way and that in
a sudden fever of mental energy. In the bedroom there was no need to
light his lamp, and he started to undress in the broad path of moonlight
that flooded the little chamber. But after he had thrown his coat aside
he forgot to go on with the process, and after many minutes he found
himself leaning on the sill of the open window staring at the moon.

"Bed?" he muttered, in a strange excitement. "Why should I go to bed?
I'm not sleepy. I'm moon-struck, probably. I'm full of crazy thoughts
and fancies. I don't want to sleep, I want to walk--and think. I want to
be out of doors."

He found his way down the stairs, unmindful of the fact that he had left
his coat behind, and stepped out into the warm fragrant night. The road
was a dark cavern, splotched with silver. He turned away from it,
seeking the open spaces of the garden, his shadow stalking beside him,
purple-black in the moonlight. The air scarcely moved.

The world was hushed and heavy with sleep. Once, as he passed under the
drooping branches of a tree, a bird stirred in its nest with a sleepy
_cheep_. He made his way around the house at the back, absentmindedly
feeling for his coat pocket and his pipe. He had left it upstairs, but
no matter. Why should one want to defile such a night as this with
tobacco-smoke, anyway? He stopped once under a pear-tree and wondered
why his pulse raced so.

"What's the matter with me?" he murmured. "Am I going to be sick? Or am
I just plain locoed by that moon? Well!"

He sighed, laughed softly at himself, and went on. He was in the shade
now, but beyond him was a moonlit space where stood the little arched
gateway in the hedge. He went toward it, his footsteps making scant
sound on the soft turf; reached it; passed--but no, he didn't pass
through just then. Instead he stopped suddenly, drew in his breath and
stared wonderingly into the startled face confronting him.

XVI.

For a little time, perhaps as long as it took his heart to pound thrice
in wild tumult, they confronted each other in silence. Then--"Eve!" he
cried, softly; and--

"You!" she whispered.

Again a silence, in which he could have sworn that he heard his heart
beating with gladness and the stars singing in the heave