* * * * *

Hours of the night in dim processional passed the old house unlighted

save by the stars. Toward dawn a sea-wind stirred the trees; the

fountain jet rained on the surface of the pool or, caught by a sudden

breeze, drifted in whispering spray across the grass. Everywhere the

darkness grew murmurous with sounds, vague as wind-blown voices; sweet

as the call of children from some hill-top where the stars are very

near, and the new moon's sickle flashes through the grass.

Athalie stirred where she lay, turned her head sideways with infinite

precaution, and lay listening.

Through the open window beside her she saw a dark sky set with stars;

heard the sea-wind in the leaves and the falling water of the

fountain. And very far away a sweet confused murmuring grew upon her

ears.

Silently her soul answered the far hail; her heart, responding, echoed

a voiceless welcome till she became fearful lest it beat too loudly.

Then, with infinite precaution, noiselessly, and scarcely stirring,

she turned and laid her lips again where they had rested all night

long and, lying so, dreamed of miracles ineffable.




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