He had wasted a whole night's rest.
Fiercely he straightened himself.

Surely his brain must be going! Why, he had only spoken to her twice.

And then, like a spirit that mocked, the words ran through his brain: "Who ever loved that loved not at first sight ?" So this was love, was it?
This--was love! With clenched hands he stood looking out to the dawning, while the wild fever leaped and seethed in his veins.

He called up before his inner vision the light, dainty figure, the level, grey eyes, fearless, yet in a fashion shy, the glow of the sun-tanned skin, the soft, thick hair, brown in the shadow, gold in the sun.
Straight before him, low in the sky, hung the morning star.

It almost looked as if it were drifting earthwards with all its purity, all its glistening sweetness, drifting straight to the heart of the world.