ncible actual influence.
The image of the pure creature grew symbolically out of the sovereign
purity of the surrounding aspect of things. The symbol re-acted forcibly
on the spirit of the poet.

While still watching to see if the other one would come, he gave himself
up to a vision suggested by the scene before him.

It was a poetic, almost a mystic dream. He was waiting for Donna
Maria--she had chosen this night of supernatural purity on which to
sacrifice her own purity to her lover's desire. All the white things
about her, cognisant of the great sacrifice about to be accomplished,
were waiting to cry _Ave_ and _Amen_ at the passage of their sister. The
silence was alive.

And behold, she comes! _Incedit per lilia et super nivem._ She comes,
robed in ermine; her tresses bound about with a fillet; her steps
lighter than a shadow; the moon and the snow are less pale than
she--_Ave_!

A shadow, azure as the light that tints the sapphire, accompanies her.
The great mis-shapen lilies bend not as she passes; the frost has
congealed them, has made them like the asphodels that illumine the paths
of Hades. And yet, like those of the Christian paradise, they have a
voice and say with one accord--_Amen_.

So be it--the Beloved glides on to the sacrifice. Already she nears the
watcher sitting mute and icy, but whose eyes are burning and eloquent.
And on her hands, the dear hands that close his wounds and open the
doors of dreams, he presses his kiss.--So be it.

Then on her lips, the dear lips that know no word of falseness, he lays
his kiss. Released from the fillet, her hair spreads like a glorious
flood in which all the shadows of the night put to flight by the moon
and the snow seem to have taken refuge. _Comis suis obumbrabit tibi, et
sub comis peccavit. Amen._

And still the other did not come! Through the silence, through the
poetry, the hours of men sounded again from the towers and belfries of
Rome. A carriage or two rolled noiselessly past the Four Fountains
towards the Piazza or crawled slowly up towards Santa Maria Maggiore;
and each street-lamp shone yellow as a topaz in the light. It seemed as
if the night, reaching its highest point, had grown more luminously
radiant. The filigree of the gateway twinkled and flashed as if its
silver embroideries were studded with jewels. In the palace, great
circles of dazzling light shone on the windows like diamond florins.

'What if she does not come?' thought Andrea