Suddenly like a sword the most terrible fear he ever knew passed through him.... And after a while the dull, ringing clangour came back, dinning, stupefying, interminable. Yet he was conscious of every sound, every movement on the floor above. * * * * * One of the physicians came halfway down the stairs, looked at him; and he rose mechanically and went up. He saw nothing clearly in the room until he bent over Athalie. Her eyes unclosed. She whispered: "It is all right, beloved." Somebody led him out. He kept on, conscious of the grasp on his arm, but seeing nothing. * * * * * He had been walking for a long while, somewhere between light and darkness,--perhaps for hours, perhaps minutes. Then somebody came who laid an arm about his shoulder and spoke of courage. Other people were in the room, now. One said: "Don't go up yet."... Once he noticed a woman, Mrs. Connor, crying. Connor led her away. Others moved about or stood silent; and some one was always drawing near him, speaking of courage. It was odd that so much darkness should invade a lighted room. Then somebody came down the stairs, noiselessly. The house was very still. And at last they let him go upstairs. CHAPTER XXX Lights yet burned on the lower floors and behind the drawn blinds of Athalie's room. The night was quiet and soft and lovely; the moon still young in its first quarter. There was no wind to blow the fountain jet, so that every drop fell straight back where the slim column of water broke against a strip of stars above the garden wall. Somewhere in distant darkness the little owl trilled. * * * * * If he were walking or motionless he no longer knew it; nor did he seem to be aware of anything around. Hafiz came up to him through the dusk with a little mew of recognition or of loneliness. Afterward the cat followed him for a while and then settled down upon the grass intent on the invisible stirring stealthily in obscurity. The fragrance of the iris grew sweeter, fresher. Many new buds had unfolded since high noon. One stalk had fallen across the path and Clive's dragging feet passed over it where he moved blindly, at hazard, with stumbling steps along the path--errant, senseless, and always blind. For on the garden bench a young girl sat, slender, exquisite, smiling as he approached. But he could not see her, nor could he see in her arms the little flower-like face, and the tiny hands against her breast. "Clive!" she said. But he could not hear her. "Clive," she whispered; "my beloved!" But he could neither see nor hear. His knees, too, were failing; he put out one hand, blindly, and sank down upon the garden bench. All night long she sat beside him, her head against his shoulder, sometimes touching his drawn face with warm, sweet lips, sometimes looking down at the little face pressed to her quiet breast.