In the land of Desire,
Are the embers of fire,
Are the ashes of those who return,
Who return to the world:
Who flame at the breath
Of the Mockers of Death.
O Sweet, we will voyage again
To the camp of Love's fire,
Nevermore to return!"

"How am I doing?" she said at the end of this verse. She really did not
know--her voice seemed an endless distance away. But she felt the
stillness in the drawing-room.

"Well," he said. "Now for the other. Don't be afraid; let your voice,
let yourself, go."

"I can't let myself go."

"Yes, you can: just swim with the music."

She did swim with it. Never before had Peppingham drawing-room heard a
song like this; never before, never after, did any of Delia Gasgoyne's
friends hear her sing as she did that night. And Lady Gravesend
whispered for a week afterwards that Delia Gasgoyne sang a wild love song
in the most abandoned way with that colonial Belward. Really a song of
the most violent sentiment!

There had been witchery in it all. For Gaston lifted the girl on the
waves of his music, and did what he pleased with her, as she sang: