When all my poppies were destroyed I bethought myself of an image from Spenser’s ‘Ruines of Time,’ and laughed again and again. It was of the ivory harp with golden strings that the poet saw borne up to heaven. Ah, my joy--_mine_!--was assured! No malicious intervention could hold me from it now. In one short hour, in one short hour! Twilight deepened into evening as I walked; soon large drops of rain began to fall, and the parched vegetation cried aloud with joy, as its fibres relaxed and its thirsty flowers drank their fill. There was a numbness in the air that foretold a thunderstorm before morning. Thrice a light blanched the heavens, showing me the distant avenue that led to the garden. The lime-trees were in full bloom, and the heavy shower beat the flowers to the ground. Scarce had my foot touched the velvety grass ere from the distance came the sound of voices in impetuous discussion. My wonder was great at any human creature’s daring to walk in these weird precincts after nightfall. The voices were those of a man and a woman; the one commanding, the other pleading earnestly. They were coming rapidly towards me. Indeed I could already distinguish something black moving beneath the limes. A flood of bombast rushed to my lips. The desire for something discordant almost overpowered me, forcing me to rack my brain for some bizarre sarcasm wherewith to distract the love-making of these country sweethearts. Soon their speech resolved into distinct words; it seemed as if they lingered. ‘Nay, leave me! Take me no further! Was ever woman so tortured?’ one cried loudly. ‘Was ever woman so false? was ever woman so unworthy?’ the other replied. ‘But I swear, Cuthbert, I will not come. Oh, let me return! I love him--this very moment he is waiting for me. My darling Rupert, my husband. I _will_ return.’ At these words I felt my stature lengthen: then sight, speech, everything left me save the quickened sense of hearing. ‘Do you remember the old promises? Fool! to think of contending against my influence--to dream of setting that dullard’s power against mine! You are mine, planned so by God, joined to my soul in implacable union. Come, Phyllida.’ Silence followed. Phyllida was false and I was wifeless. I leaned against the trunk of a lime, waiting for the last sight of the woman who had betrayed me so pitifully. The footsteps approached nearer, and erelong a man passed. He was more fragile than I, and his long form was shrouded in a black cloak. His arms waved from side to side in magnetic rhythm, and his white face and hands shone like those of a corpse. I watched him, spellbound; and when he had gone a little way I heard the voices begin anew. It was illusion--magic--anything but the terrible thing I had feared. The relief made me fall, face downwards, to the sodden grass. In less than half an hour I entered Colmer Hall. Hester, Phyllida’s old nurse, came to me at the foot of the staircase, and laid her hand upon my shoulder.