'Your story!' he cried. 'It is indeed your story.'
The eyes were so close against his own that he made a movement that was like diving into a deep and shining sea to reach them…. The Pleiades rushed instantly past his face…. Soft filaments of golden texture stroked his very cheeks. That slender violet wind rose into his hair. He saw other larger winds behind it, deeply coloured…. Something made him tremble all over like a leaf in a storm. He saw, then, the crest of the sentinel poplar tossing between him and the earth far, far below. A mist of confusion caught him, so that he knew not where he was…. He made an effort to remember… a violent effort…. Some strange sense of heaviness oppressed him…. He was leaving her.
'Quick!' he tried to cry; 'be quick! I am changing. I am drowsy with your voice and beauty. Your eyes have touched me, and I am—falling asleep!' His voice grew weaker as he said it.
Her answer sounded faint, and far above him:
'Give me… your… hand. Touch me. Come away with me… to… my … garden … in the mountains…. We may wake together … You are waking now…!'
He made an effort to find her little palm. But the wind swept coldly between his opened fingers.
'Waking!—what is it?' he cried thinly. He thought swiftly of something vague and muddy—something dull, disordered, incomplete. Here it was all glass-clear. 'Where are you? I can't find you. I can't see!'
A dreadful, searching pain shot through him. He was losing her, just when he had found her. He struggled, clung, fought frantically to hold her. But his fingers seized the air.
'Oh, I shall find you—even when you wake,' he heard far away among the stars. 'Try and remember me—when I come. Try and remember….'
It dipped into the distance. He had lost her. He caught a glimpse of the Pleiades as he fell at a fearful speed. Some one behind them picked up stars and tossed them after him. They dimmed as they shot by—from gold to white, from white to something very pale. Behind them rose a wave of light that hurt his eyes.