in the fragrant cloud, and round her she distinguished the outlines of well-known faces.
“Psyche!”
She recognised the voice, deep bronze, but yet strange. And the wind blew about her and she saw a bright light before her, and recognised the Chimera!
“You promised me: once more!” exclaimed Psyche joyfully.
She threw herself on to his back, she clung to his mane, and he soared aloft.
“Where am I?” said Psyche. “Who am I? What has happened? And what is going on around me? Am I dead, or do I live? Chimera, how rarefied is the air! how high you ascend! Are you going to ascend higher, higher still? Why is everything so dazzlingly bright about us? Is that water, or air, or light? What strange element is this? Who are going up with us ethereal faces, ethereal forms? And what is the viol that is playing?
“I heard that once before. Then it sounded plaintively; now it has a joyous sound!
“Chimera, why is the air so full of joy here . . . .? Look! below us is the Kingdom of the Past.
“It lies in a little circle, and the castle is a
