And all our speech this night was the same--without words. We spoke together with our eyes--with our eyes. * * * "Busie, good-night," I said to her softly. It was hard for me to go away from her. The one God in Heaven knew the truth--how hard it was. "Good-night," Busie made answer. She did not stir from the spot. She looked at me, deeply perplexed, out of her beautiful blue "Song of Songs" eyes. I said "good-night" to her again. And she again said "good-night" to me. My mother came in and led me off to bed. When we were in my room, my mother smoothed out for me, with her beautiful, snow-white hands, the white cover of my bed. And her lips murmured: "Sleep well, my child, sleep well." Into these few words she poured a whole ocean of tender love--the love which had been pent up in her breast the long time I had been away from her. I was ready to fall down before her, and kiss her beautiful white hands. "Good-night," I murmured softly to her. And I was left alone--all alone, on this night. * * * I was all alone on this night--all alone on this silent, soft, warm, early spring night. I opened my window and looked out into the open, at the dark blue night sky, and at the shimmering stars that were like brilliants. And I asked myself: "Is it then true? Is it then true?... "Is it then true that I have lost my happiness--lost my happiness for ever? "Is it then true that with my own hands I took and burnt my wonderful dream-palace, and let go from me the divine Queen's Daughter whom I had myself bewitched, once on a time, years ago? Is it then so? Is it so? Maybe it is not so? Perhaps I have come in time? 'I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse.'" ... I sat at the open window for a long time on this night. And I exchanged whispered secrets with the silent, soft, warm early spring night that was full--strangely full--of secrets and mysteries.... On this night, I made a discovery-- That I loved Busie with that holy, burning love which is so wonderfully described in our "Song of Songs." Big fiery letters seemed to carve themselves out before my eyes. They formed themselves into the words which I had only just recited, my father and I--the words of the "Song of Songs." I read the carved words, letter by letter. "Love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame." On this night, I sat down at my open window, and I asked of the night which was full of secrets and mysteries, that she should tell me this secret: "Is it true that I have lost Busie for ever? Is it then true?" ... But she is silent--this night of secrets and mysteries. And the secret must remain a secret for me--until the morrow. "Tomorrow," Busie had said to me, "we will talk." Ah! Tomorrow we will talk!... Only let the night go by--only let it vanish, this night! This night! This night! THE END * * * * * _NEW BORZOI NOVELS_ _SPRING, 1922_