A beautiful moth brushed across the great blue eyes of Nycteris. She sprang to her feet to follow it--not in the spirit of the hunter, but of the lover. Her heart--like every heart, if only its fallen sides were cleared away--was an inexhaustible fountain of love: she loved everything she saw. But as she followed the moth, she caught sight of something lying on the bank of the river, and not yet having learned to be afraid of anything, ran straight to see what it was. Reaching it, she stood amazed. Another girl like herself! But what a strange-looking girl!--so curiously dressed too!--and not able to move! Was she dead? Filled suddenly with pity, she sat down, lifted Photogen's head, laid it on her lap, and began stroking his face. Her warm hands brought him to himself. He opened his black eyes, out of which had gone all the fire, and looked up with a strange sound of fear, half moan, half gasp. But when he saw her face, he drew a deep breath, and lay motionless--gazing at her: those blue marvels above him, like a better sky, seemed to side with courage and assuage his terror. At length, in a trembling, awed voice, and a half whisper, he said, "Who are you?" "I am Nycteris," she answered. "You are a creature of the darkness, and love the night," he said, his fear beginning to move again. "I may be a creature of the darkness," she replied. "I hardly know what you mean. But I do not love the night. I love the day--with all my heart; and I sleep all the night long." "How can that be?" said Photogen, rising on his elbow, but dropping his head on her lap again the moment he saw the moon; "--how can it be," he repeated, "when I see your eyes there--wide awake?" She only smiled and stroked him, for she did not understand him, and thought he did not know what he was saying. "Was it a dream then?" resumed Photogen, rubbing his eyes. But with that his memory came clear, and he shuddered, and cried, "Oh horrible! horrible! to be turned all at once into a coward! a shameful, contemptible, disgraceful coward! I am ashamed--ashamed--and _so_ frightened! It is all so frightful!" "What is so frightful?" asked Nycteris, with a smile like that of a mother to her child waked from a bad dream. "All, all," he answered; "all this darkness and the roaring." "My dear," said Nycteris, "there is no roaring. How sensitive you must be! What you hear is only the walking of the water, and the running about of the sweetest of all the creatures. She is invisible, and I call her Everywhere, for she goes through all the other creatures and comforts them. Now she is amusing herself, and them too, with shaking them and kissing them, and blowing in their faces. Listen: do you call that roaring? You should hear her when she is rather angry though! I don't know why, but she is sometimes, and then she does roar a little." "It is so horribly dark!" said Photogen, who, listening while she spoke, had satisfied himself that there was no roaring.