on. The
colonnades detached against silver-misted foliage, the gardens
spectrally outspread, seemed to enclose him in a magic circle of
loveliness which the first ray of daylight must dispel. He wandered on,
drawn to the depths of shade on the lower terraces. The hush grew
deeper, the murmur of the river more mysterious. A yew-arbour invited
him and he seated himself on the bench niched in its inmost dusk. Seen
through the black arch of the arbour the moonlight lay like snow on
parterres and statues. He thought of Maria Clementina, and of the
delight she would have felt in such a scene as he had just left. Then
the remembrance of Mirandolina's blandishments stole over him and spite
of himself he smiled at the Marquess's discomfiture. Though he was in no
humour for an intrigue his fancy was not proof against the romance of
his surroundings, and it seemed to him that Miranda's eyes had never
been so bright or her smile so full of provocation. No wonder Frattanto
followed her like a lost soul and the Marquess abandoned Rome and
Baalbec to sit at the feet of such a teacher! Had not that light
philosopher after all chosen the true way and guessed the Sphinx's
riddle? Why should today always be jilted for tomorrow, sensation
sacrificed to thought?

As he sat revolving these questions the yew-branches seemed to stir, and
from some deeper recess of shade a figure stole to his side. He started,
but a hand was laid on his lips and he was gently forced back into his
seat. Dazzled by the outer moonlight he could just guess the outline of
the figure pressed against his own. He sat speechless, yielding to the
charm of the moment, till suddenly he felt a rapid kiss and the visitor
vanished as mysteriously as she had come. He sprang up to follow, but
inclination failed with his first step. Let the spell of mystery remain
unbroken! He sank down on the seat again lulled by dreamy musings...

When he looked up the moonlight had faded and he felt a chill in the
air. He walked out on the terrace. The moon hung low and the tree-tops
were beginning to tremble. The villa-front was grey, with oblongs of
yellow light marking the windows of the ball-room. As he looked up at
it, the dance-music ceased and not a sound was heard but the stir of the
foliage and the murmur of the river against its banks. Then, from a
loggia above the central portico, a woman's clear contralto notes took
flight:

Before the yellow dawn is up,
With pomp of s