"This is my kingdom," she said, "and if you obey me, I will show you things of which you have never dreamed--" and then she came towards the tree and sat upon the high forked branch of the broken bough while she pointed with shadowy finger to the part which was a bench. "Sit there, Man of Day," she ordered, "for you cannot see beyond your hand. You cannot know how the living things are creeping about, unafraid now of your cruel power. You cannot discern the difference in the colors of the fresh young bracken and the undergrowth; you cannot perceive the birds asleep in the tree." "No, indeed, Lady of Night," he said, "I admit I am but a mole, but you will let me perceive them with your eyes, will you not?" She slipped from her perch suddenly, before he could put out a protesting hand to stop her, and glided out of his view into the dark of the copse, and from there he heard the intoxicating silver laughter which maddened his every sense. "Halcyone! Witch!" he called. "Come back to me--I am afraid, all alone!" So she came, appearing like a materializing wraith from the shadow, and with an undulating movement of incredible grace she was again seated upon her perch, the fallen forked branch of the tree. John Derringham was experiencing the strongest emotion he had ever felt in his life. A maddening desire to seize the elusive joy--to come nearer--to assure himself that she was real and not a spirit of night sent to torture and elude him--overcame all other thought. The startling change from her deportment of the day--the very way she glided about was as the movement of some other being. And as those old worshipers of Dionysus had grown intoxicated with the night and the desire of communion with the beyond, so he--John Derringham--cool, calculating English statesman--felt himself being drawn into a current of emotion and enthrallment whose end could only be an ecstasy of which he did not yet dare to dream. It was all so abnormal--to see her here, a shadow, a tantalizing soft shadow with a new personality--it was no wonder he rubbed his eyes and asked himself if he were awake. "Come with me," she whispered, bending nearer to him, "and I will show you how the wild roses grow at night." "I will follow you to Hades," he said, "but I warn you I cannot see a yard beyond my nose. You must lead me with your hand, if so ethereal a spirit possesses a hand." Again the silver laugh, and he saw her not, but presently she appeared from behind the tree. She had let down her misty, mouse-colored hair, and it floated around her like a cloud. Then she slipped a cool, soft set of fingers into his, and led him onward, with sure and certain steps, while he blundered, not knowing where to put his feet, and all the time she turned every few seconds and looked at him, and he could just distinguish the soft mystery of her eyes, while now and then, as she walked, a tendril of her floating hair flew out and caressed his face, as once before, long ago.