THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
denly she laughed. He saw the gleam of white teeth and light dancing in shadowed eyes, but heard not a sound. She skipped backward a few paces, stretched her hands toward the window, drew them back toward herself, fingers pointing to her bosom; flung them wide, fingers pointing around the clearing. This language of gesture, spirited and wayward, declared the actual woman. If anything were needed to reassure him beyond doubt it was the stamped foot and the violently shaken head by which she still commanded his presence at the window, when he would have left it for the outer door. Once more pointing at herself, she showed him with stroking gestures how she wore a coat, a queer little brown thing, a dryad garment, pale as the old bark of a tree. The air was mild, warm, mocking such a precaution; but a coat, or a thousand coats! if that was all she imposed to reach her!
He put on outer garments with a mind in abeyance. His senses thought, and were inspired. Opening the door the breath of night rushed upon his face to welcome him, sweet and unexpected as the woman's seeking him. From behind the wire screens it had looked as a picture. Now it was intimate, and whispered of actual possibilities. The voice of the pines flowed all round him, murmuring like a stream underground. He looked over the
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