It was face to face with this other self that Wilmer now found herself--an elfish, wholly irresponsible self, although governed by something bigger even than thought. And when the word love reached this other, it was as though she sprang into radiantly full being. Flushed and palpitating, eyes brimming with daring and eagerness, she asserted herself. She was Youth with all the hardy qualities of youth; she was Life with all the adventurous enthusiasm of life; she was Womanhood with all the steady courage of womanhood. She asked no questions, but she whispered secrets. She whispered secrets to Wilmer lying there in the dark--big secrets, holy secrets, quickening secrets. She spoke of love quite fearlessly--at times almost fiercely. With eyes that were like the blazing sun, with nostrils that quivered, with a mouth opened for frank laughter, she challenged the world to deny her. And Wilmer, her pretty white arm thrown over her forehead, stared and marveled until finally her eyes grew heavy and she slipped away into a dream world. She awoke at dawn. She started to her elbow to listen once again for the footsteps of Allston. The house was silent--the utter silence of early morning. She realized then that she must have slept and that he had passed her door during that interval. She fell back to her pillow, but her eyes remained wide open. She had a feeling that something had happened in the last few hours--something big. It is so one awakes after joyous news, unable for a second to recall it. The emotion remains, but unrelated. Then suddenly she remembered, and her face became as radiant as the face of that other woman. She _was_ that other woman--that heart woman. In her dreams, love had taken possession. She sprang from bed, and crossing to the open window looked out at the dawn. The quickening sky greeted her like a sister. The east was still a silver gray, but it looked so fresh and clean and cool that impulsively she threw out her arms towards it. So she did towards all the trees and grasses, though they were still half hidden in the dark. There were shadows there, too, but they were friendly shadows. She did not fear them in the least. They called to her to come out under the sky and be refreshed like them. She felt cramped here in her room. She wished to be part of the dawn. And so dressing quickly she stole downstairs to the sitting-room. The fire was out, but the chair in which Allston had sat was still in its place before the cold hearth. Her hand fell upon it caressingly. It had become individualized to her. There were other chairs in the room of similar design, but these were merely so many indifferent pieces of wicker furniture. This was his chair. This would always be his chair.