ng anxiously about as if
to see whether any one were there; but she was alone.

Then it came, in the shadow behind her, the face of a man, moving
nearer--a rugged Roman head, with deep-set, bold blue eye, big brows, a
great jaw, reddish hair. It came nearer, and the girl knew it was
coming. In an instant more, she would spring forward across the court,
crying out for protection.

No, she did not move till the man was close to her, looking over her
shoulder, whispering in her ear. Cecilia saw it all, and it was so real
that she tried to call out, to shriek, to make any sound that could save
her image from destruction, for the kiss that was coming would be death
to both, and death with unutterable shame and pain. But her voice was
gone, and her lips were frozen. She sat paralysed with a horror she had
never known before, while the face of the phantom girl blushed softly,
and turned to the strong man, and the two gazed into each other's eyes a
moment, knowing that they loved.

She felt that it was her other self, and that she had the will to
resist, even then, and that the will must still be supreme over the
illusion. Never, it seemed to her, had she made such a supreme effort,
never had she felt such power concentrated in her strong determination,
never in all her life had she been so sure of the result when she had
willed anything with all her might. Every fibre of her being, every
nerve in her body, every throbbing cell of her brain was strained to
breaking. The two faces were quite close, the longing lips had almost
met--nothing could hinder, nothing could save; the phantasms did not
know that she was watching them.

Suddenly something changed. She no longer saw herself in a vision, she
was herself there, somewhere, in the dark, in the light--she did not
know--and there was no will, nor thought, nor straining resistance any
more, for Lamberto Lamberti held her in his arms, her, Cecilia Palladio,
her very living self, and his lips were upon hers, and she loved him
beyond death, or life, or fear, or torment. Surely she was dying then,
for the darkness was whirling with her, spinning itself into myriads of
circles of fiery stars, tearing her over the brink of the world to
eternity beyond.

One second more and it must have ended so. Instead, she was leaning back
in her chair, between the moonlight and the steadily burning candles, in
her own room, alone. From head to foot she trembled, and now and then
drew a short a