Again and again the unseen musicians made marvelous melody for the two enchanted listeners. Sometimes the chords were plaintively sad, sometimes joyous, but always penetrating the deepest recesses of being, the inner sanctuary where poetry and dreams have their high and heavenly dwelling-place.
The two entranced listeners sat facing each other, lost in the delicious spell of the melody.
Suddenly an electric breeze enveloped Cartice, sending over her that creepy thrill we are all familiar with, which resembles fear, but is not fear. There, before her eyes, just back of Chrissalyn, stood Prescott, looking exactly the same as when with them in material form. Somehow she was made to understand that she must not cry out—nor tell Chriss that he was there. Spellbound and silent she watched him. He laid his hand on the Butterfly’s shining head, smiled and spoke. She saw his lips move, and the glitter of his teeth, but heard no sound, understood no word. Then, while her eyes were still upon him, he vanished.
“You look very pale, Cartice. Are you frightened?” Chrissalyn asked, as the music ceased.
Mrs. Doring shook her head, for her tongue, dry and powerless, was no longer a willing servant.
The music came back no more. After talking of the wonderful phenomenon awhile, they bade each other good-night and parted.
Cartice could not sleep. The strange events of the evening drove away repose. Again and again she recalled the expression on Prescott’s face, trying to translate it into words, but in vain. Only one thing was plain. It was something pertaining to the Butterfly, and he didn’t want her to know it.
After hours of wakefulness she slept and dreamed. She and Chrissalyn were dancing in a great and fantastic company. Everybody else wore masks, but their faces were uncovered. Chrissalyn was the partner of a graceful knight in black velvet who whirled her on and on, endlessly. At last they rose into the air together, and Chriss became a veritable butterfly, with beautiful silvery wings. The knight also developed wings, but they were black, like his garments.
Cartice called to her friend to come down, but she only laughed and rose higher, and finally flew out of sight. With a wildly beating heart Cartice awoke.
Rising, she dressed for the journey. Knocking on Chrissalyn’s door, she received no answer. Then she called her, and with light and jesting words bade her make haste.