He was stroking her hair soothingly, persuasively, his dark face so close to hers that when she opened her eyes they looked up straight into his.  But she saw nought to frighten her there, and after a moment she reached up and kissed him apologetically.

“I’m only silly—­only silly,” she murmured confusedly.  “Good night—­good night—­Apollo!”

And with the words she stood up, summoning her strength, smiled upon him, and slipped free from his encircling arm.

He did not seek to detain her.  She flitted from his presence like a fluttering white moth, and he was left alone.  He stood quite motionless in the semi-darkness, breathing deeply, his clenched hands pressed against his sides.

That moment had been a revelation to him also.  He was abruptly conscious of the spirit so dominating the body that the fierce, ungoverned heart of him drew back ashamed as a beast will shrink from the flare of a torch, and he felt strangely conquered, almost cowed, as though an angel with a flaming sword had suddenly intervened between him and his desire.

The madness of his passion was yet beating in his veins, but this—­this was another and a stronger element before which all else became contemptible.  The soul of the man had sprung from sleep like an awaking giant.  Half in wonder and half in awe, he watched the kindling of the Divine Spark that outshineth every earthly fire.

CHAPTER XIII

THE BROKEN HEART

The return home was to Dinah like a sudden plunge into icy depths after a brief sojourn in the tropics.  The change of atmosphere was such that she seemed actually to feel it in her bones, and her whole being, physical and mental contracted in consequence.  Her mother treated her with all her customary harshness, and Dinah, grown sensitive by reason of much petting, shrank almost with horror whenever she came in contact with the iron will that had subjugated her from babyhood.

Before the first week was over, she was counting the days to her deliverance; but of this fact she hinted nothing in her letters to her lover.  These were carefully worded, demure little epistles that gave him not the smallest inkling of her state of mind.  She was far too much afraid of him to betray that.

Had she been writing to Scott she could scarcely have repressed it.  In one letter to Isabel indeed something of her yearning for the vanished sunshine leaked out; but very strangely Isabel did not respond to the pathetic little confidence, and Dinah did not venture to repeat it.  Perhaps Isabel was shocked.

The last week came, and with it the arrival of wedding-presents from her father and friends that lifted Dinah out of her depression and even softened her mother into occasional good-humour.  Preparations for the wedding began in earnest.  Billy, released somewhat before the holidays for the occasion, returned home, and everything took a more cheerful aspect.