Over the garden a waning moon silvered the water in the pool and
picked out from banked masses of bloom a tall lily here and there.
All the blossom-spangled vines were misty with the hovering wings of
night-moths. Through alternate bands of moonlight and dusk the jet
from the pool split into a thin shower of palely flashing jewels,
sometimes raining back on the water, sometimes drifting with the wind
across the grass. And through the dim enchantment moved Athalie,
leaning on Clive's arm, like some slim sorceress in a secret maze,
silent, absent-eyed, brooding magic.
Already into her garden had come the little fantastic creatures of the
night as though drawn thither by a spell to do her bidding. Like a fat
sprite a speckled toad hopped and hobbled and scrambled from their
path; a tiny snake, green as the grass blades that it stirred, slipped
from a pool of moonlight into a lake of shadow. Somewhere a small owl,
tremulously melodious, called and called: and from the salt meadows,
distantly, the elfin whistle of plover answered.
Like some lost wanderer from the moon itself a great moth with
nile-green wings fell flopping on the grass at the girl's feet. And
Clive, wondering, lifted it gingerly for her inspection.
Together they examined the twin moons shining on its translucent
wings, the furry, snow-white body and the six downy feet of palest
rose. Then, at Athalie's request, Clive tossed the angelic creature
into the air; and there came a sudden blur of black wings in the
moonlight, and a bat took it.
But neither he nor she had seen in allegory the darting thing with
devil's wings that dashed the little spirit of the moon into eternal
night. And out of the black void above, one by one, flakes from the
frail wings came floating.
To and fro they moved. She with both hands clasped and resting on his
arm, peering through darkness down at the flowers, as one perfume,
mounting, overpowered another--clove-pink, rocket, lily, and petunia,
each in its turn dominant, triumphant.
Puffs of fragrance from the distant sea stirred the garden's tranquil
air from time to time: somewhere honeyed bunches hung high from locust
trees; and the salt meadow's aromatic tang lent savour to the night.
"I must go back to town," he said irresolutely.
He heard her sigh, felt her soft clasp tighten slightly over his arm.
But she turned back in silence with him toward the house, passed in
the open door before him, her fair head lowered, and stood so, leaning
against the newel-post.
"Good night," he said in a low voice, still irresolute.