He knew that she was coming before he saw her. She came along the edge of the plain above him springing barefoot. He saw her legs gleam under her swirling skirts. He strained his eyes to her, but could not see her face for the mist over them. He waited for her, watching, feeling her approach. She began the descent of the scarp timidly, as if she was playing with the thought of his bliss, which she held daintily in her hands. “Dangerously beautiful, my Beautiful One, art thou. Heedless always of thyself. Now a wind blows from thee to me. Thy herald, O Thou that shrillest on the wind!”
He heard her gay and confident voice. “Jack! Jack! Where are you?” He rose and went to meet her; she saw him, and suddenly faltered in her stoop. She stopped, poised as if for flight; he saw her wings fold behind her, and lie quivering where they touched each other.
Her heart urged her. “Go to him.”
She looked at him. “I can't see him perfectly, and can't trust myself.”
Her heart cried, “I have brought you so far. I daren't stop.” Still she stood and flickered.
Senhouse mounted to meet her. Blushful and bashful she stood; but her eyes, deeply watchful, never left him.
He, too, had lost his tongue. “Queen Mab! I knew that you were coming.”
Her eyes were timid and her tongue tied. She was like a rueful child.
“How did you come, my dear?”
“I don't know.”