ince!" Happy is he whose written pages reproduce but faintly the glow
from whence they came. For "whoso with blood and tears would dig Art out
of his soul, may lavish his golden prime in pursuit of emptiness, or,
striking treasure, find only fairy gold, so that when his eyes are purged
of the spell of morning, he sees his hands are full of withered leaves."

A meadow-lark, rising from a distant field, dropped golden notes into the
still, sunlit air, then vanished into the blue spaces beyond. A bough of
apple bloom, its starry petals anchored only by invisible cobwebs, softly
shook white fragrance into the grass. Then, like a vision straight from
the golden city with the walls of pearl, came Elaine, the beautiful, her
blue eyes laughing, and her scarlet lips parted in a smile.

Harlan's heart sang within him. His trembling hands grasped feverishly at
the sheaf of copy-paper which had waited for this, week in and week out.
The pencil was ready to his hand, and the words fairly wrote themselves:

_It came to pass that when the year was at the Spring, the Lady Elaine
fared forth upon the Heart's Quest. She was mounted upon a snowy palfrey,
whose trappings of scarlet and silver gleamed brightly in the sun. Her
gown was of white satin, wondrously embroidered in fine gold thread, which
was no less gold than her hair, falling in unchecked splendour about
her._

_Blue as sapphires were the eyes of Elaine, and her fair cheek was like
that of an apple-blossom. Set like a rose upon pearl was the dewy,
fragrant sweetness of her mouth, and her breath was like that of the rose
itself. Her hands--but how shall I write of the flower-like hands of
Elaine? They--_

The door-bell pealed portentously through the house, echoing and
re-echoing through the empty rooms. No answer. Presently it rang again,
insistently, and Elaine, with her snowy palfrey, whisked suddenly out of
sight.

Gone, except for these few lines! Harlan stifled a groan and the bell rang
once more.

Heavens! Where was Dorothy? Where was Mrs. Smithers? Was there no one in
the house but himself? Apparently not, for the bell rang determinedly, and
with military precision.

"March, march, forward march!" grumbled Harlan, as he ran downstairs, the
one-two, one-two-three being registered meanwhile on the bell-wire.

It was not a pleasant person who violently wrenched the door open, but in
spite of his annoyance, Harlan could not be discourteous to a lady. She
was tall,