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“No, I am not a girl,” he answered; “–although,” he added, changing his tone, and casting himself on the ground at her feet, “I have given you too good reason to call me one.”

“Oh, I see!” returned Nycteris. “No, of course! you can’t be a girl: girls are not afraid–without reason. I understand now: it is because you are not a girl that you are so frightened.”

Photogen twisted and writhed upon the grass.

“No, it is not,” he said sulkily; “it is this horrible darkness that creeps into me, goes all through me, into the very marrow of my bones–that is what makes me behave like a girl. If only the sun would rise!”

“The sun! what is it?” cried Nycteris, now in her turn conceiving a vague fear.

Then Photogen broke into a rhapsody, in which he vainly sought to forget his.

“It is the soul, the life, the heart, the glory of the universe,” he said. “The worlds dance like motes in his beams. The heart of man is strong and brave in his light, and when it departs his courage grows from him–goes with the sun, and he becomes such as you see me now.”

“Then that is not the sun?” said Nycteris, thoughtfully, pointing up to the moon.

“That!” cried Photogen, with utter scorn; “I know nothing about that, except that it is ugly and horrible. At best it can be only the ghost of a dead sun. Yes, that is it! That is what makes it look so frightful.”

“No,” said Nycteris, after a long, thoughtful pause; “you must be wrong there. I think the sun is the ghost of a dead moon, and that is how he is so much more splendid as you say.–Is there, then, another big room, where the sun lives in the roof?”

“I do not know what you mean,” replied Photogen. “But you mean to be kind, I know, though you should not call a poor fellow in the dark a girl. If you will let me lie here, with my head in your lap, I should like to sleep. Will you watch me, and take care of me?”

“Yes, that I will,” answered Nycteris, forgetting all her own danger.

So Photogen fell asleep.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE SUN.

There Nycteris sat, and there the youth lay, all night long, in the heart of the great cone-shadow of the earth, like two Pharaohs in one pyramid. Photogen slept, and slept; and Nycteris sat motionless lest she should wake him, and so betray him to his fear.

The moon rode high in the blue eternity; it was a very triumph of glorious night; the river ran babble-murmuring in deep soft syllables; the fountain kept rushing moon-ward, and blossoming momently to a great silvery flower, whose petals were for ever falling like snow, but with a continuous musical clash, into the bed of its exhaustion beneath; the wind woke, took a run among the trees, went to sleep, and woke again; the daisies slept on their feet at hers, but she did not know they slept; the roses might well seem awake, for their scent filled the air, but in truth they slept also, and the odour was that of their dreams; the oranges hung like gold lamps in the trees, and their silvery flowers were the souls of their yet unembodied children; the scent of the acacia blooms filled the air like the very odour of the moon herself.

At last, unused to the living air, and weary with sitting so still and so long, Nycteris grew drowsy. The air began to grow cool. It was getting near the time when she too was accustomed to sleep. She closed her eyes just a moment, and nodded–opened them suddenly wide, for she had promised to watch.

In that moment a change had come. The moon had got round, and was fronting her from the west, and she saw that her face was altered, that she had grown pale, as if she too were wan with fear, and from her lofty place espied a coming terror. The light seemed to be dissolving out of her; she was dying–she was going out! And yet everything around looked strangely clear–clearer than ever she had seen anything before: how could the lamp be shedding more light when she herself had less? Ah, that was just it! See how faint she looked! It was because the light was forsaking her, and spreading itself over the room, that she grew so thin and pale! She was giving up everything! She was melting away from the roof like a bit of sugar in water.