hen rose to her feet, swiftly, as though
she had made a resolution and was about to act upon it. She made a step
forward, and then paused again, while a half-scornful smile passed like
a shadow over her face. Very slowly she began to pace the marble floor,
up and down in the open space before her chair, turning and turning
again, the soft folds of her white gown following her across the smooth
pavement with a gentle, sweeping sound, such as the breeze makes among
flowers in spring.

"Is it he?" she asked aloud in a voice ringing with the joy and the
fear of a passion that has waited long and is at last approaching the
fulfilment of satisfaction.

No answer came to her from among the thick foliage nor in the scented
breath of the violets and the lilies. The murmuring song of the little
fountain alone disturbed the stillness, and the rustle of her own
garments as she moved.

"Is it he? Is it he? Is it he?" she repeated again and again, in
varying tones, chiming the changes of hope and fear, of certainty
and vacillation, of sadness and of gladness, of eager passion and of
chilling doubt.

She stood still, staring at the pavement, her fingers clasped together,
the palms of her hands turned downward, her arms relaxed. She did not
see the dark red squares of marble, alternating with the white and
the gray, but as she looked a face and a form rose before her, in
the contemplation of which all her senses and faculties concentrated
themselves. The pale and noble head grew very distinct in her inner
sight, the dark gray eyes gazed sadly upon her, the passionate features
were fixed in the expression of a great sorrow.

"Are you indeed he?" she asked, speaking softly and doubtfully, and yet
unconsciously projecting her strong will upon the vision, as though to
force it to give the answer for which she longed.

And the answer came, imposed by the effort of her imagination upon the
thing imagined. The face suddenly became luminous, as with a radiance
within itself; the shadows of grief melted away, and in their place
trembled the rising light of a dawning love. The lips moved and the
voice spoke, not as it had spoken to her lately, but in tones long
familiar to her in dreams by day and night.

"I am he, I am that love for whom you have waited; you are that dear one
whom I have long sought throughout the world. The hour of our joy has
struck, the new life begins to-day, and there shall be no end."

Unorna's arms went out to