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?
He opened a glass door by which access was had to the grounds of the old Priory, and stood, surpliced by the moonlight, beside the ruined arch where an oriel window had once been. He turned and looked at the house. It was black against the clear sky that overflowed with light, but one window above the room where he had been sitting was illuminated.
It had no drapery—he could see through it half way into the room beyond.
Just above where a silver sconce with three lighted candles hung from the wall, he could see that the black panel bore in high relief a carved Head of the Virgin, surrounded with lilies.
He kept his eyes fixed upon that carving until—until....
There came before his eyes in that room the Temptation of Saint Anthony.
His eyes became dim looking at her loveliness, shining with dazzling whiteness beneath the light of the candles.
He put his hands before his eyes and staggered to the door through which he had passed. There he stood, his breath coming in sobs, with his hand on the handle of the door.