over the pond.  August had been so rainy and windy that they seemed anxious to make the most of the still autumn evening.  The males were sitting dotted about among the reeds, peering on every side with their prominent eyes, and when one approached another too closely, the two would rush at each other till their transparent wings, like delicate plates of silver, and their scaly bodies, made a tiny rustling when they met in conflict.  Then all was still again among the rushes, until the arrival of a female dragon-fly.  She would come slowly and carelessly humming along from some other part of the garden, and when she got near the pond would change her course, turn off, and fly back again.  Her little heart was doubtless beating high; but casting aside her fears, she at length took courage, and sped on over the pond.  Away started five or six males, dashing at each other like knights in helm and harness, and battling confusedly amid the clash of tiny weapons.  But the happy victor soon bid adieu to the conflict, and sailed past the others to the side of his lovely prize.  Their wings met for a moment in mimic combat, and then away they glided in close embrace far over the heads of the discomfited champions, each aiding other with fairy wings, to seek a lonely spot far away among the rushes.

A plaintive air, sung by some shrill girlish voices in the West End, was wafted over by the light evening breeze.  It was so still that Madeleine could follow every word: 

     “I now myself must sever,
     My little friend, from thee. 
     Let naught oppress thee ever;
     Soon home again I’ll be.”

She felt more than usually depressed, and now, just as it had happened after church on Sunday, Delphin’s image seemed suddenly to spring up into her thoughts.  Where he came from she knew not.  A web of confused reveries seemed to weave themselves in her soul, just as the moon shed its mysterious network of shadows over the grass.

Her attention was all at once attracted by a noise in the garden.  She certainly fancied that she heard the door of the summer-house creak on its rusty hinges.  At the same moment she heard Morten’s heavy tread on the stone steps leading up to the front door:  he must be returning from the stable.  It was time to go to bed, but still she remained at the window, looking towards the summer-house.  She now discovered two forms that were going slowly down the path which led to the wicket in the garden wall.  This path was fringed on both sides by high overgrown hedges, and she could only see the heads every now and then as they passed.  In the idea that it was one of the maids with her sweetheart, she was just going to shut the window.  It was surely nothing which concerned her.