e within me, no
daylight philosophy had any power to dispel the dream of a face which
was now my most precious possession, as I once more took up my stick
and listlessly pursued my way to Yellowsands.

For I had one other reason than my own infatuation, or thought I had.
Yes, brief and rapid as our glance at each other had been, I had
fancied in her eyes a momentary kindling as they met mine, a warm
summer-lightning which seemed for a second to light up for me the inner
heaven of her soul.

Of one feeling, however, I was sure,--that on my side this apocalyptic
recognition of her, as it had seemed, was no mere passionate
correspondence of sex, no mere spell of a beautiful face (for such
passion and such glamour I had made use of opportunities to study), but
was indeed the flaming up of an elemental affinity, profounder than
sex, deeper than reason, and ages older than speech.

But it was a fancy, for all that? Yes, one of those fancies that are
fancies on earth, but facts in heaven. Perhaps you don't believe in
them. Well, I'm afraid that cannot be helped.

CHAPTER VII

"COME UNTO THESE YELLOW SANDS!"

Nothing further happened to me till I reached Yellowsands, except an
exciting ride on the mail-coach, which connected it with the nearest
railway-station some twenty miles away. For the last three or four
miles the road ran along the extreme precipitous verge of cliffs that
sloped, a giant's wall of grassy mountain, right away down to a dreamy
amethystine floor of sea, miles and miles, as it seemed, below. To
ride on that coach, as it gallantly staggered betwixt earth and heaven,
was to know all the ecstasy of flying, with an added touch of danger,
which birds and angels, and others accustomed to fly, can never
experience. And then at length the glorious mad descent down three
plunging cataracts of rocky road, the exciting rattling of the harness,
the grinding of the strong brakes, the driver's soothing calls to his
horses, and the long burnished horn trailing wild music behind us, like
invisible banners of aerial brass,--oh, it stirred the dullest blood
amongst us thus as it were to tear down the sky towards the white roofs
of Yellowsands, glittering here and there among the clouds of trees
which filled the little valley almost to the sea's edge, while floating
up to us came soft strains of music, silken and caressing, as though
the sea itself sang us a welcome. Had you heard it from aboard the
Argo, yo