The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (11.1896)

By Stanley V. Makower 257
waves in the breeze, and the elves creep away with a faint,
droning cry.
The knight prances up on his white steed, at the back of him
are the army of shadows. At the window waving a long white
scarf the princess stands, and her eyes shine like stars.
A shower of rose leaves falls from her window. Rose leaves,
rose leaves, rose leaves.
Now she is seated on a pillion behind the knight, and they
ride off in a cloud of rose leaves, and the jewels on the knight’s
horse flash in the sunlight.
# * * * *
Was it a horse—a white horse ?
How the rose leaves whispered and fluttered.
He rubbed his hand across his face and felt the wrinkles with
which it was indented, while in the darkness of his mind he was
vaguely conscious of a wide pool, over which the wind had sent
a ripple.
How his limbs ached. He half raised his eyelids and then
closed them again wearily, waving his hand feebly in front of him
as if to put away the reality that was breaking upon his dream.
But in spite of himself his eyes opened.
The fire had gone quite out, and he shivered slightly. Through
an arched opening at the end of the room he saw a woman with
auburn hair seated at the piano with her back to him. Her head
was slightly turned so that he could see her profile, and her hair
and forehead were lit up by the candle-light.
She was smiling to a group of men who stood round her.
The man in the armchair groaned a little. By his side was
a bowl of roses, the perfume of which filled his nostrils. He
shut his eyes for a moment, trying to see the picture of
the