yet unfettered, grace of its rhythmic respiration suggested to Alwyn, first darkness,—­then twilight—­then the gradual far-glimmering of a silvery dawn,—­till out of the shuddering notes there seemed to grow up a vague, vast, and cool whiteness, splendid and mystical,—­a whiteness that from shapeless, fleecy mist took gradual form and substance, ... the great concert-hall, with its closely packed throng of people, appeared to fade away like vanishing smoke,—­and lo!—­before the poet’s entranced gaze there rose up a wondrous vision of stately architectural grandeur,—­a vision of snowy columns and lofty arches, upon which fell a shimmering play of radiant color flung by the beams of the sun through stained glass windows glistening jewel-wise,—­a tremulous sound of voices floated aloft, singing, “Kyrie Eleison!—­Kyrie Eleison!”—­and the murmuring undertone of the organ shook the still air with deep vibrations of holy tune.  Everywhere peace,—­everywhere purity! everywhere that spacious whiteness, flecked with side-gleams of royal purple, gold, and ardent crimson,—­and in the midst of all,—­O dearest tenderness!—­ O fairest glory!—­a face, shining forth like a star in a cloud!—­a face dazzlingly beautiful and sweet,—­a golden head, above which the pale halo of a light ethereal hovered lovingly in a radiant ring!

“Edris!”—­The chaste name breathed itself silently in Alwyn’s thoughts,—­silently and yet with all the passion of a lover’s prayer!  How was it, he wondered dimly, that he saw her thus distinctly now,—­now, when the violin-music wept its wildest tears—­now when love, love, love, seemed to clamor in a tempestuous agony of appeal from the low, pulsating melody of the marvellous “Zigeunerweisen,” a melody which, despite its name, had revealed to one listener, at any rate, nothing concerning the wanderings of gypsies over forest and moorland,—­but on the contrary had built up all these sublime cathedral arches, this lustrous light, this exquisite face, whose loveliness was his life!  How had he found his way into such a dream sanctuary of frozen snow?—­what was his mission there?—­and why, when the picture slowly faded, did it still haunt his memory invitingly,—­ persuasively,—­nay, almost commandingly?

He could not tell,—­but his mind was entirely ravished and possessed by an absorbing impression of white, sculptured calm,—­ and he was as startled as though he had been brusquely awakened from a deep sleep, when the loud plaudits of the people made him aware that Sarasate had finished his programme, and was departing from the scene of his triumphs.  The frenzied shouts and encores, however brought him once more before the excited public, to play a set of Spanish dances, fanciful and delicate as the gamboling of a light breeze over rose-gardens and dashing fountains,—­and when this wonder-music ceased, Alwyn woke from tranced rapture into enthusiasm, and joined in the thunders of applause with fervent warmth and zeal.  Eight