Never was woman so grateful, never wound
so quickly healed. She shook her head sadly at him, and stilling the
proud throbbing of her heart, she said:
"But thee played so well, Davy!"
He got up and turned his head away, lest he should laugh outright. Her
reasoning--though he was not worldly enough to call it feminine, and
though it scarce tallied with her argument--seemed to him quite her own.
"How long have we?" he said over his shoulder. "The sun is yet five
minutes up, or more," she said, a little breathlessly, for she saw his
hand inside his coat, and guessed his purpose.
"But thee will not dare to play--thee will not dare," she said, but more
as an invitation than a rebuke. "Speech was denied me here, but not my
music. I find no sin in it."
She eagerly watched him adjust the flute. Suddenly she drew to him the
chair from the doorway, and beckoned him to sit down. She sat where she
could see the sunset.
The music floated through the room and down the hillside, a searching
sweetness.
She kept her face ever on the far hills.
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