of his "folks." To-night, however, he was resolved to tempt it. After
listening to the record, he strolled over to the saloon.

Dickie was curious. He shared Millings's interest in the "young lady from
Noo York." Shyness fought with a sense of adventure, until to-night, a
night fully ten nights after Sheila's arrival, the courage he imbibed at
the bar of The Aura gave him the necessary impetus. He pulled himself up
from his elbow, removed his foot from the rail, straightened his spotted
tie, and pushed through the swinging doors out into the night.

It was a moonlit night, as still and pure as an angel of annunciation--a
night that carried tall, silver lilies in its hands. Above the small,
sleepy town were lifted the circling rim of mountains and the web of
blazing stars. Sylvester's son, after a few crunching steps along the icy
pavement, stopped with his hand against the wall, and stood, not quite
steadily, his face lifted. The whiteness sank through his tainted body
and brain to the undefiled child-soul. The stars blazed awfully for
Dickie, and the mountains were awfully white and high, and the air
shattered against his spirit like a crystal sword. He stood for an
instant as though on a single point of solid earth and looked giddily
beyond earthly barriers.

His lips began to move. He was trying to put that mystery, that
emotion, into words ... "It's white," he murmured, "and
sharp--burning--like--like"--his fancy fumbled--"like the inside of a
cold flame." He shook his head. That did not describe the marvelous
quality of the night. And yet--if the world had gone up to heaven in a
single, streaming point of icy fire and a fellow stood in it, frozen,
swept up out of a fellow's body.... Again he shook his head and his eyes
were possessed by the wistful, apologetic smile. He wished he were not