Ah, surely this was the midsummer madness of which they had spoken!  It was a vision that could not last, but the wonder of it—­ah, the wonder of it!—­she would carry for ever in her heart.

It ended at length, but so softly, so tenderly, that, spellbound, she never knew when lingering sound became enduring silence.  She awoke as it were from a long dream and knew that her heart was beating with a wild and poignant longing that was pain.  Then there arose a great shouting, and instinctively she laid her hand on Fielding’s arm and drew him away.

“Had enough?” he asked.

She nodded.  Somehow for the moment she could find no words.  She had a feeling as of unshed tears at her throat.  Ah, what had moved him to play to her like that?  And why did it hurt her so?

She moved back up the grassy slope still with that curious sense of pain.  Something had happened to her, something had pierced her.  By that strange and faun-like power of his he had reached out and touched her inmost soul, and she knew as she went away that she was changed.  He had cast a glittering spell upon her, and nothing could ever be the same again.

After a space she spoke at random and Fielding made reply.  With the instinct of self-defence she maintained some species of casual conversation during their stroll back to the waiting car, but she never had the vaguest recollection afterwards as to what passed between them.

She was thankful to be swooping back again through the summer night.  An urgent desire for solitude was upon her.  All her throbbing pulses cried out for it.  Was it but yesterday—­but yesterday that she had felt so safe?  And now—­

Later, alone in her room at the Court, she leaned from her open window seeking with an almost frantic intensity to recover the peace that had been hers.  How had she lost it?  She could not say.  Was it the mere piping of a flute that had reft it from her?  She wanted to laugh at herself, but could not.  It was too absurd, too fantastic, for everyday, prosaic existence, that rhapsody of the starlight, but to her it had been pure magic.  In it she had heard the call of a man’s being, seeking hers, and by every hidden chord that had vibrated in answer she knew that he had not called in vain.  That was the knowledge that pierced her—­the knowledge that she was caught—­against her will,—­still wildly struggling for freedom—­but caught.

It had happened so suddenly, so amazingly.  Yesterday she had been free—­only yesterday—­Or stay!  Perhaps even then the net had been about her feet, and he had known it.  How otherwise had he spoken so intimately—­dared so much?

She drew a long, deep breath, recalling his look, his touch, his voice.  Ah!  Midsummer madness indeed!  But she could not stay to face it.  She must go.  The way was still open behind her.  She would escape as she had come, a fugitive from the force that pursued her so relentlessly.  She would not suffer herself to be made a captive.  She would go.