'The haven entered and the tempest passed.' Philip Marston's terrible poem,--you have read it,--'A Christmas Vigil'?
'The haven entered,'-- the whirlwind of passion has been left far away, we fancy.

Oh, we are fools! It sweeps down upon us and then--doom--doom!" "My poor dear, you are talking wildly." "If you only understood--perhaps you will some day understand, and then you will know what seems wild in my speech is but the incoherence of a poor creature who has been beaten to the ground by the whirlwind, and only saved from destruction by a miracle." She had sprung from her place on the sofa and was pacing the room, her diamonds quivering, luminous as a shower of meteors--that was the fancy that flashed from her to Phyllis.

Meteors--meteors--what a splendid picture she made flashing from place to place! Meteors--ah, surely there was the meteor-bird flashing across the drawing room! "Come and sit down, my dear Ella," said Phyllis.

"You are, as you know, quite unintelligible to me." "Unintelligible to you?
I am unintelligible to myself," cried Ella.

"Why should I be tramping up and down your room when I might be at this very moment----" She clutched Phyllis' arm.