* * * * *
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.