w look, and I will show you the lily-of-the-valley
cups--there are only a few there under the shelter of the gray stone
arch. Come."

And she opened the gate, letting go of his hand as she glided beyond.

"I cannot and will not hazard a step if you leave me," he called, and
she came back and gave him again her soft fingers to hold. So at last
they reached the summer house at the end of the second terrace, where
the archway was where old William kept his tools.

There were very few flowers out, but a mass of wild roses, and still
some May tulips bloomed, while from the meadow beneath them came that
indescribable freshness which young clover gives.

John Derringham knew now that he was dreaming--or drunk with some nectar
which was not of earth. And still she led him on, and then pointed to
the old bench which he could just see.

"We shall sit here," she said, "and Aphrodite shall tell us your
future--for see, she, too, loves the night and comes here with me."

And to his intense astonishment, as he peered on to the table, he saw a
misty mass of folds of silk, and there lay the goddess's head, that
Halcyone had shown to him that day in the long gallery more than a month
ago.

He was so petrified with surprise at the whole thing that he had ceased
to reason. Everything came now as a matter of course, like the
preposterous sequence of events in a dream. The Aphrodite lay, as a
woman caressed, half buried in her silken folds, but Halcyone lifted her
up and propped her against a stone vase which was near, letting the silk
fall so that the broken neck did not show, and it seemed as if a living
woman's face gazed down upon them.

John Derringham's eyes were growing more accustomed to the darkness, or
Halcyone really had some magic power, for it seemed to him that he could
see the divine features quite clearly.

"She is saying," the soft voice of his companion whispered in his ear,
"that all the things you will grasp with your hands are but dreams--and
the things that you now believe to be dreams are all real."

"And are you a dream, you sweet?" asked John Derringham. "Or are you
tangible, and must I drink the poison cup, after all?"

"I would give you no noxious wine," she answered. "If you were strong
and wise and true, only the fire which I have stolen from heaven could
come to you."

"Long ago," he said, "you gave me an oak-leaf, dryad, and I have kept it
still. What now will you grant to me?"

"Nothing, since