Returning to my own domains, I saw through the trees a vivid red light in one of the upper windows of Willowsmere. It twinkled like a lurid star, and I guided my steps by its brilliancy as I made my way across the winding garden-paths and terraces back to the house. Entering the hall, the page in scarlet and gold met me, and with a respectful obeisance, escorted me to my room where Amiel was in waiting. "Has the prince retired?" I asked him. "Yes, sir." "He has a red lamp in his window has he not?" Amiel looked deferentially meditative. Yet I fancied I saw him smile. "I think----yes,--I believe he has, sir." I asked no more questions, but allowed him to perform his duties as valet in silence. "Good-night sir!" he said at last, his ferret eyes fastened upon me with an expressionless look. "Good-night!" I responded indifferently. He left the room with his usual cat-like stealthy tread, and when he had gone, I,--moved by a sudden fresh impulse of hatred for him,--sprang to the door and locked it. Then I listened, with an odd nervous breathlessness. There was not a sound. For fully quarter of an hour I remained with my attention more or less strained, expectant of I knew not what; but the quiet of the house was absolutely undisturbed. With a sigh of relief I flung myself on the luxurious bed,--a couch fit for a king, draped with the richest satin elaborately embroidered,--and falling soundly asleep I dreamed that I was poor again. Poor,--but unspeakably happy,--and hard at work in the old lodging, writing down thoughts which I knew, by some divine intuition and beyond all doubt, would bring me the whole world's honour. Again I heard the sounds of the violin played by my unseen neighbour next door, and this time they were triumphal chords and cadences of joy, without one throb of sorrow. And while I wrote on in an ecstasy of inspiration, oblivious of poverty and pain, I heard, echoing through my visions, the round warble of the nightingale, and saw, in the far distance, an angel floating towards me on pinions of light, with the face of Mavis Clare. XXIII The morning broke clear, with all the pure tints of a fine opal radiating in the cloudless sky. Never had I beheld such a fair scene as the woods and gardens of Willowsmere when I looked upon them that day illumined by the unclouded sunlight of a spring half-melting into summer. My heart swelled with pride as I surveyed the beautiful domain I now owned,--and thought how happy a home it would make when Sibyl, matchless in her loveliness, shared with me its charm and luxury.