or that
brief fragment of time Wade's eyes, half-blinded by the dazzlement,
looked into the woman's. His widened with wonder and dawning
recognition; hers--but the vision passed. The frame was empty again.

Wade passed a hand over his eyes, blinked and asked himself startledly
what it meant. Had he dreamed? He gazed dazedly from the fallen pipe to
the empty window. The sunlight dazzled and hurt, and he closed his eyes
for an instant. And in that instant another vision came.... It was
twilight on Saddle Pass.... Two starlit eyes looked wonderingly down
into his. The mouth beneath was like a crimson bud with parted
petals.... A slim, warm hand was in his and his heart danced on his
lips.... The slender form lessened and softened in the tender darkness
and became only a pale blur far down the track, and he was standing
alone under the cold white stars, with a spray of lilac against his
mouth.

He opened his eyes with a shiver. It was uncanny. All that had been five
years ago, five years filled to the brim with work and struggle and
final attainment, all making for forgetfulness. The thing was utterly
absurd and impossible! His senses had tricked him! The light had
blinded his eyes and imagination had done the rest! And yet--

He strode to the window and looked out. The garden was empty and still.
Only, under the window, at the edge of the path, lay a spray of purple
lilac.

IV.

"Eh? Yes? What is it?"

Wade sat up in bed and stared stupidly about him. In Heaven's name where
was he? And what was the noise that had awakened him? There it was
again!

_Rat, tat, tat, tat!_

Was he still asleep? What was this room? The stove looked dimly
familiar, and there were his clothes over the back of a green rep
rocker. But where--Then memory routed sleep and he sank back onto the
pillow with a sigh of relief. It was all right. He remembered now. He
was in his own cottage in Eden Village, he had had a fine long sleep and
felt ready for--

_Rat, tat, tat, tat--TAT!_

"Hello! What is it? Who is it? Why in thunder don't you--"

"Please, sir, it's me."

The reply came faintly through the dining room. Some one was knocking at
the kitchen door. The apologetic tones sounded feminine, however, and
Wade was in no costume to receive lady visitors. He looked desperately
around for his dressing-gown and remembered that it was in his trunk and
that his trunk still reposed in the porter's room of a Boston hotel.

"Who--who i