Elizabeth had sat late in her room. There was a book in her hand, but after a time she did not read. The night was very warm. She got up and opened the window wide. The moon was low and nearly full, and a wind blew out of the west—such a warm wind, full of the scent of green, growing things. Elizabeth put out the light and stood by the window, drawing long breaths. It seemed as if the wind were blowing right through her. It beat upon her uncovered throat, and the touch of it was like something alive. It sang in her ears, and Elizabeth’s blood sang too. And then, quite suddenly, she heard a sound that stopped her heart. She heard the handle of the door between her room and David’s turn softly, and she heard a step upon the threshold. All her life was at her heart, waiting. She could neither move, nor speak, nor draw her breath. And the wind blew out her long white dress, and the wind blew out her hair. As in a trance between one world and the next, she heard a voice in the room. It was David’s voice, and yet not David’s voice, and it shook the very foundations of her being. “Turn round and let me see your face, Woman of my Dream,” said David Blake. Elizabeth stood quite still. Only her breath came again. The wind brought it back to her, and as she drew it in, the step came nearer and David said again: “Show me your face—your face; I have never seen your face.” She turned then, very slowly—in obedience to an effort, that left her drained of strength. David was standing in the middle of the room. His feet were bare, as he had risen from his bed, but his eyes were open, and they looked not at, but through Elizabeth, to the place where she walked in his dream. “Ah!” said David on a long, slow, sudden breath. He came nearer—nearer. Now he stood beside her, and the wind swept suddenly between them, and eddying, drove a great swathe of her unfastened hair across his breast. David put up his hand and touched the hair. “But I can’t see your face,” he said, in a strange, complaining note. “The moon shines on your hair, but not upon your face. Show me your face—your face——” She moved, and the moon shone on her. Her face was as white as ivory. Her eyes wide and dark—as dark as the darkening sky. They stood in silence, and the moon sank low. Then David put out his hands and touched her on the breast. “Now I have seen your face,” he said. “Now I am content because I have seen your face. I have gone hungry for the sight of it, and have gone thirsty for the love of you, and all the years I have never seen your face.” “And now——?” Elizabeth’s voice came in a whisper. “Now I am content.” “Why?” “Your face is the face of Love,” said David Blake. His hands still held her hair. They lay against her heart, and moved a little as she breathed.