In the darkness a deed was done, A wild word spoken! A joy was tasted,--a passion wasted,-- A heart was broken! Not a glimpse of the moon shall shine, Not a star shall mark The passing of night,--or shed its light On my Dream of the Dark! The song died away in a shuddering echo, and before Gervase had time to raise his eyes from their brooding study of the floor the singer and her companion had noiselessly disappeared, and he was left alone with the Princess Ziska. He drew a long breath, and turning fully round in his chair, looked at her steadily. There was a faint smile on her lips--a smile of mingled mockery and triumph,--her beautiful witch-like eyes glittered. Leaning towards her, he grasped her hands suddenly in his own. “Now,” he whispered, “shall I speak or be silent?” “Whichever you please,” she responded composedly, still smiling. “Speech or silence rest equally with yourself. I compel neither.” “That is false!” he said passionately. “You do compel! Your eyes drag my very soul out of me--your touch drives me into frenzy! You temptress! You force me to speak, though you know already what I have to say! That I love you, love you! And that you love me! That your whole life leaps to mine as mine to yours! You know all this; if I were stricken dumb, you could read it in my face, but you will have it spoken--you will extort from me the whole secret of my madness!--yes, for you to take a cruel joy in knowing that I _am_ mad--mad for the love of you! And you cannot be too often or too thoroughly assured that your own passion finds its reflex in me!” He paused, abruptly checked in his wild words by the sound of her low, sweet, chill laughter. She withdrew her hands from his burning grasp.