“‘To hearts that near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good because, oh, Love,
They never say Good-night.’”=
His whispering of the last lines was very tremulous. Her eyes were closed and her lips were parted with the passing of a sigh—a sigh that had something of a sob about it. Then both her arms were flung round his neck, and he felt her face against his. Then.... he was alone.
How had she gone?
Whither had she gone?
How long had he been alone?
He got upon his feet, and looked in a dazed way around the room.
Had it all been a dream? Was it only in fancy that she had been in his arms? Had he been repeating Shelley’s poem in the hearing of no one?