.. and his thoughts, wandering on
thus between fact and fantasy, led him back with a deep inexplicable
thrill again to--the Pleiades, whose beauty, without their being aware
of it, shines nightly for all who can accept it. Here was the old, old
truth once more-that the left hand must not know what the right is
doing, and that to be is of greater importance than to do. Here was
Fairyland once more, the Fairyland he had just left. To think beauty
and love is to become them, to shed them forth without realising it. A
Fairy blesses because she is a Fairy, not because she turns a pumpkin
into a coach and four.... The Pleiades do not realise how their
loveliness may....
Rogers started. For the thought had borrowed a tune from the rhythm of
the wheels and sleepers, and he had uttered the words aloud in his
corner. Luckily he had the carriage to himself. He flushed. Again a
tender and very exquisite thing had touched him somewhere.... It was
in that involuntary connection his dreaming had found between a Fairy
and the Pleiades. Wings of gauzy gold shone fluttering a moment before
his inner sight, then vanished. He was aware of some one very dear and
wild and tender, with amber eyes and little twinkling feet--some one
whom the Great Tale brought almost within his reach.... He literally
had seen stars for an instant--_a_ star! Its beauty brimmed him up.
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