Yes, they were yet wrapped in that rainbow-coloured mantle of marvellous ideal happenings; still, so to speak, they followed in the wake of the wonderful pageant they had seen go by; they traversed strange fabulous lands, and went through all those superhuman scenes and actions, all those wonders, those enchantments, those magical spells. They beheld visions, swaying in the dark, floating along the sky, expanding as they looked, and touching their hearts with such telling power that they could not breathe for dread, but stood pressed close one to the other, mute, terror-struck, and gazing into the opaque bottomless depths of their dreams. And their minds would then blossom forth into the blossoms of fantasy—the beautiful flowers of faith and loving rapture ... and they sounded the extremes of admiration and oblivious joy. Then, returning to earth once more, they would search the night with bewildered eyes, scarce knowing in which world they were, whether those marvels had been realized, or were all mere phantoms and creations of the brain. “Say, Yagna, are you not afraid?” “I? I would go with you to the very end of the world—die with you!” she whispered with energy, pressing very close to him. “Were you waiting there for me?” he asked after a while. “Dearest, at every opening of the door, I expected you! I went there only for you; and how I feared you would fail to come!” “Yet, when I came, ye feigned not to see me!” “Nonsense. Should I look, with folks’ eyes upon me?—Ah, there was that within me which yearned so, I wonder I did not fall off my seat in a swoon.” “Sweetest!” “You sat behind me, and I knew it; but I feared to look round—feared to speak: all the time my heart went pit-a-pat, and beat so loud, I think folk must have heard.” “I thought to find you at the Klembas’, and to leave with you.” “I meant to run straight home ... but ye constrained me....” “Against your will? Say, Yagna!” “Nay ... more than once ... I thought that this might come to pass!” “Did you think so? Did you think so?” he whispered, in a passion of love. “Surely, Antek.—And besides ... there ... continually ... beyond the stile ... it was not well with us.” “True.—Here, none will disturb us. We are alone.” “Aye, alone! And how thick this darkness is!” she murmured, throwing her arms about his neck, and embracing him with all the vehemence of her passionate soul. Now there was no longer any wind; only a slight breeze which from time to time caressed and cooled their burning faces. Neither stars nor moon were visible: the sky was louring, covered with thick clouds as with a ragged fleece, and dark-brown as a herd of oxen upon a bare waste field. Things loomed dimly afar, as if seen through expanses of drab smoke, as if the whole world were but a tissue of fogs, of darkness rolling around on every side, of seething murk. A movement in the air—an uneasy vibration, scarce to be felt, seemed floating forth from the forests, lost in the night.