all. I think I dreamed a bit with open
eyes. Then dimly I became conscious of something moving in the distance.
The moon had risen like a balloon of gold, and in the air was the scent
of sandal. Slowly, with an indolent grace of its own, that something
neared the opposite shore. As it reached the water it stopped, arched
its back, and turned. I saw then that it was a leopard. No, my dear,
you can form no idea of the beauty of that beast. And then suddenly it
threw its head back and called. It lapped the water, and then, with its
tongue, gave its forepaw one long, lustrous lick, and called again; a
call that was echoless, yet so resonant I felt it thrill my finger-tips.
In a moment its mate sprang from the shadows. If the first comer was
beautiful, then this one was the ideal. There they stood, caressing each
other with amber, insatiate eyes. It was like a scene in fairyland. And
as I watched them, I felt a movement at my side. I turned. He had taken
aim and was about to fire, but, as I turned, he turned to me. Those
beasts, I told myself, are far too fair for death; yet I said not a
word. My dear, he read my unuttered wish, he lowered the gun, and
then--then, for the first time, I knew what love might be.... There's
the dogcart now. Come over and dine to-morrow. If you care to, Ferris
will show you the gun."

FAUSTA.

There are many beautiful things in the world, and among them, near the
head of the list, stands dawn in the tropics. It is sudden as love, and
just as fair. Throughout the night the ship had been sailing beneath
larger stars than ours, in waters that were seamed and sentient with
phosphorus; but now the ship was in the harbor, day had chased the
stars, the water was iridescent as a syrup of opals, at the horizon was
the tenderest pink, overhead was a compound of salmon and of blue; and
beyond, within rifle range, was an amphitheatre of houses particolored
as rainbows, surmounted by green hills, tiared with the pearl points of
cathedral steeples, and for defensive girdle, the yellow walls of a
crumbling fort.

"On this side," thought one who lounged on deck, "it seems bounded by
beauty," and he might have added, "by ignorance on the other." He was a
good-looking young fellow, dressed Piccadilly-fashion, and yet, despite
the cut of his coat, the faint umber of his skin and the sultry un-Saxon
eyes marked him as being of Latin blood. His name was Ruis Ixar. He was
the son of a certain Don Jayme, wh