Then motionless, prone upon the ground, he waited.
Months had passed since that first night when, at length, an Answer had come to Vanamee.

At first, startled out of all composure, troubled and stirred to his lowest depths, because of the very thing for which he sought, he resolved never again to put his strange powers to the test.
But for all that, he had come a second night to the garden, and a third, and a fourth.

At last, his visits were habitual.

Night after night he was there, surrendering himself to the influences of the place, gradually convinced that something did actually answer when he called.
His faith increased as the winter grew into spring.

As the spring advanced and the nights became shorter, it crystallised into certainty.
Would he have her again, his love, long dead?
Would she come to him once more out of the grave, out of the night?
He could not tell; he could only hope.