THE MAID OF THE MILL
feeling stole over him; the bed seemed like a cloud of down, her sash smelled like spice and sandalwood in a warm wind. He felt he was being drugged and weakened, and he tried to stumble up, but the soft silk smothered him, and he became almost unconscious.
"He only wanted one thing—to feel her fingers touch his face and to hold her long brown hair. And while she drew the sash across his mouth he stretched out his hands on either side to catch it and reach her fingers. There was nothing ghostly about her—she was only a lovely dream-woman. Maybe he was asleep.…
"And then she pulled the sash away, and he caught her eye and awoke with a start—her look was full of triumph. She didn't beg him any longer. This was no helpless, gentle spirit of a woman; this was a weird elemental creature; she hadn't any soul or any pity; something made her act out all this dreadful tragedy, without any regard for human life or reason. He knew somehow that she couldn't help his weakness; that though in some fiendish way she had bound him hand and foot,
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