Page:Fantastics and other Fancies.djvu/189

 rich tones of that solitary voice vibrate in our memory, almost as on that perfumed sea, under the light of summer stars:—

Why he told me his story I know not: I know only that our hearts understood each other. "Of my mother," he said, "I knew little when a child; I only remember her in memories vague as dreams, and perhaps in dreams also. For there are years of our childhood so mingled with dreams that we cannot discern through memory the shadow from the substance. But