It was too far for her to call; she dared not descend fearing the dogs might wake the house.

And in answer to his confident salute, she lighted a candle, and, against the darkness, drew the fiery outline of a heart; then extinguishing the light, she sank back in her big chair, watching him as he settled in his stirrups for the night-long vigil that she meant to share with him till dawn.

The whole night long once more together!  She thrilled at the thought of it—­at the memory of that other night and dawn under the Southern planets where a ghostly ocean thundered at their feet—­where her awakened heart quickened with the fear of him—­and all her body trembled with the blessed fear of him, and every breath was delicious with terror of the man who had come this night to guard her.

Partly undressed, head cradled in her tumbled hair, she lay there in the darkness watching him—­her paladin on guard beneath the argent splendour of the moon.  Under the loosened silken vest her heart was racing; under the unbound hair her cheeks were burning.  The soft lake breeze rippled the woodbine leaves along the sill, stirring the lace and ribbon on her breast.

Hour after hour she lay there, watching him through the dreamy lustre of the moon, all the mystery of her love for him tremulous within her.  Once, on the edge of sleep, yet still awake, she stretched her arms toward him in the darkness, unconsciously as she did in dreams.

Slowly the unreality of it all was enveloping her, possessed her as her lids grew heavy.  In the dim silvery light she could scarcely see him now:  a frail mist belted horse and rider, stretching fairy barriers across the lawn.  Suddenly, within her, clear, distinct, a voice began calling to him imperiously; but her lips never moved.  Yet she knew he would hear; surely he heard!  Surely, surely!—­for was he not already drifting toward her through the moonlight, nearer, here under the palms and orange-trees—­here at her feet, holding her close, safe, strong, till, faint with the happiness of dreams come true, she slept, circled by his splendid arms.

And, while she lay there, lips scarce parted, sleeping quietly as a tired child, he sat his mud-splashed saddle, motionless under the moon, eyes never leaving her window for an instant, till at last the far dawn broke and the ghostly shadows fled away.

Then, in the pallid light, he slowly gathered bridle and rode back into the Southern forest, head heavy on his breast.

CHAPTER XXVII

MALCOURT LISTENS

Malcourt was up and ready before seven when his sister came to his door, dressed in her pretty blue travelling gown, hatted, veiled, gloved to perfection; but there was a bloom on cheek and mouth which mocked at the wearied eyes—­a lassitude in every step as she slowly entered and seated herself.

For a moment neither spoke; her brother was looking at her narrowly; and after a while she raised her veil, turning her face to the merciless morning light.