It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. The transverse spars before mentioned were as slippery as ice; and the hollows between them were filled ankle-deep with water. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. ” Miss Stanley turned to her.
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