ids the play of the stealing sunlight, she fell into a
sweet sleep.

She was soon disturbed by that indescribable ununeasiness that creeps
through our dreams when we are asleep in the presence of danger. A
weird horror possesses us, and makes the objects in the dream appear
unnatural. Gradually the terror grows on us and thrills us, and we
wake, with bristling hair and staring eyes, to the hideous
consciousness of unexpected peril.

Hedwig started and raised her lids, following the direction of her
dream. She was not mistaken. Opposite her stood her arch-horror,
Benoni. He leaned carelessly against the stone well, and his bright
brown eyes were riveted upon her. His tall, thin figure was clad, as
usual, in all the extreme of fashion, and one of his long, bony hands
toyed with his watch-chain. His animated face seemed aglow with the
pleasure of contemplation, and the sunshine lent a yellow tinge to his
snowy hair.

"An exquisite picture, indeed, countess," he said, without moving. "I
trust your dreams were as sweet as they looked?"

"They were sweet, sir," she answered coldly, after a moment's pause,
during which she looked steadily toward him.

"I regret that I should have disturbed them," he said, with a
deferential bow; and he came and sat by her side, treading as lightly
as a boy across the flags. Hedwig shuddered and drew her dark skirts
about her as he sat down.

"You cannot regret it more than I do," she said, in tones of ice. She
would not take refuge in the house, for it would have seemed like an
ignominious flight. Benoni crossed one leg over the other, and asked
permission to smoke, which she granted by an indifferent motion of her
fair head.

"So we are left all alone to-day, countess," remarked Benoni, blowing
rings of smoke in the quiet air.

Hedwig vouchsafed no answer.

"We are left alone," he repeated, seeing that she was silent, "and I
make it hereby my business and my pleasure to amuse you."

"You are good, sir. But I thank you. I need no entertainment of your
devising."

"That is eminently unfortunate," returned the baron, with his
imperturbable smile, "for I am universally considered to be the most
amusing of mortals,--if, indeed, I am mortal at all, which I sometimes
doubt."

"Do you reckon yourself with the gods, then?" asked Hedwig scornfully.
"Which of them are you? Jove? Dionysus? Apollo?"

"Nay, rather Phaethon, who soared too high--"

"Your mythology is at fault, sir,--he d