ing. The long,
white plume of the milky way, trailing soft glory on the sky--and the
great bear to the north. The names filled her ears with a mighty din,
Calliope, Venus, Uranus, Mercury, Mars--and the shining hosts of
heaven passed by. Far beyond them, mysterious other worlds gleamed and
glimmered--without name. And the heart of the child reached to them--and
travelled through the vast arches of space, with her dusty little feet
on the wide plain, and a hand holding hers, safe and warm down there in
the darkness. Her eyes dropped from the stars and she trudged on.

When Achilles spoke again, he was telling her of Alcibiades and Yaxis
and of the long days of waiting and the happiness their coming would
bring--and of her father and mother, asleep at Idlewood--and the great
house on the lake, ready always, night and day, for her coming--

"Do they know--?" she asked quickly, "that we are coming?"

"Nobody knows," said Achilles, "except you and me."

She laughed out, under the stars, and stood still. "We shall surprise
them!" she said.

"Yes--come!" They pressed on. Far ahead, foolish little stars had
glimmered out--close to the ground--the fingers of the city, stretching
toward the plain.

Her glance ran to them. "We're getting somewhere--?" she said swiftly.
"We're getting home!" Her hand squeezed his, swinging it a little.

"Not yet--" said Achilles, "not yet--but we shall take the car there.
You need not walk any more."

She was very quiet and he leaned toward her anxiously. "You are not
tired?" he asked.

"No--Mr. Achilles--I don't think--I'm tired--" She held the words
slowly. "I just thought we'd go on forever, walking like this--" She
looked up and swept her small hand toward the stars. "I thought it was
a dream--" she said softly--"Like the other dreams!" He felt a little,
quick throb run through her, and he bent again and his fingers touched
her cheek.

"I am not crying, Mr. Achilles," she said firmly, "I only just--"
There was a little, choking sound and her face had buried itself in his
sleeve.

And Achilles bent to her with tender gesture. Then he lifted his head
and listened. There was another sound, on the plain, mingling with the
sobs that swept across the child's frame.

He touched her quietly. "Someone is coming," he said.

She lifted her face, holding her breath with quick lip.

The sound creaked to them, and muffled itself, and spread across the
plain, and came again in irregular rhyt