Her windows looked over the garden, beyond which fields of long grasses stretched away as far as she could see.  A profound peace possessed these, which sharply contrasted with the disquiet in her mind.

Soon, hitherto invisible hedges and trees took dim, mysterious shape; the edge of the moon peeped with glorious inquisitiveness over the clouds.  Calmly, royally the moon rose.  So deliberately was she unveiled, that it seemed as if she were revealing her beauty to the world for the first time, like a proud, adored mistress unrobing before an impatient lover, whose eyes ached for what he now beheld.

Mystery awoke in the night.  Things before unseen or barely visible were now distinct, as if eager for a smile from the aloof loveliness soaring majestically overhead.

Mavis stood in the flood of silver light.  For the moment her distress of soul was forgotten.  She gazed with wondering awe at the goddess of the night.  The moon’s coldness presently repelled her:  to the girl’s ardent imaginings, it seemed to speak of calm contemplation, death—­things which youth, allied to warm flesh and blood, abhorred.

Then she fell to thinking of all the strange scenes in the life history of the world on which the moon had looked—­stricken fields, barbaric rites, unrecorded crimes, sacked and burning cities, the blackened remains of martyrs at the stake, enslaved nations sleeping fitfully after the day’s travail, wrecks on uncharted seas, forgotten superstitions, pagan saturnalias—­all the thousand and one phases of life as it has been and is lived.

Although Mavis’ tolerable knowledge of history told her how countless must be the sights of horror on which the moon had gazed, as indifferently as it had looked on her, she recalled, as if to leaven the memory of those atrocities (which were often of such a nature that they seemed to give the lie to the existence of a beneficent Deity), that there was ever interwoven with the web of life an eternal tale of love—­love to inspire great deeds and noble aims; love to enchain the beast in woman and man; love, whose constant expression was the sacrifice of self upon the altar of the loved one.

Then her mind recalled individual lovers, famous in history and romance, who were set as beacon lights in the wastes of oppression and wrong-doing.  These lovers were of all kinds.  There were those who deemed the world well lost for a kiss of the loved one’s lips; lovers who loved vainly; those who wearied of the loved one.

Mavis wondered, if love were laid at her feet, how it would find her.

She had always known that she was well able to care deeply if her heart were once bestowed.  She had, also, kept this capacity for loving unsullied from what she believed to be the defilement of flirtation.  Now were revealed the depths of love and tenderness of which she was possessed.  They seemed fathomless, boundless, immeasurable.

The knowledge made her sick and giddy.  She clung to the window sill for support.  It pained her to think that such a treasure above price was destined to remain unsought, unbestowed.  She suffered, the while the moon soared, indifferent to her pain.