A movement! He stretched out his hand. Someone rose. Into the shaft of moonlight came the face of a man. “Oh--oh, it's you, Harry!” He struck a match and lit the lamp. They talked softly, in short whispered sentences. On the floor, on tables, on chairs, books and manuscripts lay scattered. The breeze blowing in at the window turned pages, as though an invisible person were searching. A sheet of paper, lying uppermost on the desk, fluttered across the room to where Harry sat. He stooped, picked it up, ran his eye over it and handed it to Peter. “The last thing he wrote. Thinking of her to the end.” Peter took it and read, “She came to me and the world was glad-- 'Twas winter, but hedges leapt white with May; With snow of flowers my fields were clad, Madly and merrily passed each day, And next day and next day-- While all around By others naught but the ice was found. 'O ungrateful heart, were you ever sad? She was coming to you from the first,' I said. She turned to me her eager head, Clutching at what my thoughts did say. “She went from me and the world was sad-- 'Twas spring-time and hedges were all a-sway; With snow of winter my fields were clad, Darkly and drearily passed each day, And next day and next day-- While all around By others naught but spring-buds were found. 'O foolish heart, were you ever glad? She was going from you from the first,' I said. She turned to me her eager head, Clutching at what my thoughts did say.” “Like his life--an unfinished poem.” Peter leant out to return it to Harry, but found that he had fallen asleep in his chair. The lamp burnt itself out. The chill of dawn was in the air. Through the window the sky was gathering color, like life coming back to the cheeks of the dead. The door opened slowly. Stiff with long sitting he staggered to his feet. “Cherry!” Pressing her finger against her lips, she motioned him to be silent. Glancing at Harry she whispered, “The first sleep in two days, poor fellow.” As he followed her across the dusk of the bed-chamber, a pool of gold caught his attention; it glittered on the pillow by the face of the Faun Man. The golden woman lay crouched like a pantheress beside the body, her eyes half-shut and heavy with watching. In the pallor of the rose-garden Cherry halted. She gave him both her hands. “We can never be more to one another. Since this--I'm quite certain now. I always wanted to be only friends.”