It was only just to look on her face again, to see if she really lived like a vampire in the earth; and were she to be alive, he vowed to kill her where she lay--for into his life again he knew she must not come.
As he neared the whitebeam, a gust of wind blew out his lantern, and he stood in the profound darkness of the trees.

While he attempted to relight it, he thought he saw a faint light at the foot of the whitebeam, as of a radiance welling out of the earth; but he dismissed it as fancy.
Then, having relit the lantern, he set the spade into the ground, and speedily removed the soil from the white face below.

As he uncovered it, the wind again extinguished the lantern, and there, to his amazement and terror, was the face of Silencieux shining radiantly in the darkness.
The hole in which she lay brimmed over with light, as a spring wells out of the hillside.

Her face was almost transparent with brightness, and presently she spoke low, with a voice sweeter than Antony had ever heard before.

It was the voice of that magic harp at the bottom of the sea, it was the voice that had told him of her lovers, the voice of hidden music that had cried "Resurgam" through the wood.
"Antony," she said, "sing me songs of little Wonder." And, forgetting all but the magic of her voice, the ecstasy of being hers again, Antony carried her with him to the chalet, and setting her in her accustomed place, gazed at her with his whole soul.
"Sing me songs of little Wonder," she repeated.
"You bid me sing of little Wonder!" cried Antony, half in terror of this beautiful evil face that drew him irresistibly as the moon, "you, who took her from me!" "Who but I should bid you sing of Wonder ?" answered Silencieux.