ng myself on the ground beside
her; striving, through the gathering darkness, to get a glimpse of the
form which had broken its marble prison at my call.

"It is your white lady!" said the sweetest voice, in reply, sending a
thrill of speechless delight through a heart which all the love-charms
of the preceding day and evening had been tempering for this culminating
hour. Yet, if I would have confessed it, there was something either in
the sound of the voice, although it seemed sweetness itself, or else in
this yielding which awaited no gradation of gentle approaches, that did
not vibrate harmoniously with the beat of my inward music. And likewise,
when, taking her hand in mine, I drew closer to her, looking for the
beauty of her face, which, indeed, I found too plenteously, a cold
shiver ran through me; but "it is the marble," I said to myself, and
heeded it not.

She withdrew her hand from mine, and after that would scarce allow me to
touch her. It seemed strange, after the fulness of her first greeting,
that she could not trust me to come close to her. Though her words
were those of a lover, she kept herself withdrawn as if a mile of space
interposed between us.

"Why did you run away from me when you woke in the cave?" I said.

"Did I?" she returned. "That was very unkind of me; but I did not know
better."

"I wish I could see you. The night is very dark."

"So it is. Come to my grotto. There is light there."

"Have you another cave, then?"

"Come and see."

But she did not move until I rose first, and then she was on her feet
before I could offer my hand to help her. She came close to my side, and
conducted me through the wood. But once or twice, when, involuntarily
almost, I was about to put my arm around her as we walked on through the
warm gloom, she sprang away several paces, always keeping her face full
towards me, and then stood looking at me, slightly stooping, in the
attitude of one who fears some half-seen enemy. It was too dark to
discern the expression of her face. Then she would return and walk close
beside me again, as if nothing had happened. I thought this strange;
but, besides that I had almost, as I said before, given up the attempt
to account for appearances in Fairy Land, I judged that it would be very
unfair to expect from one who had slept so long and had been so suddenly
awakened, a behaviour correspondent to what I might unreflectingly look
for. I knew not what she might have been