bout to begin in spite of the
command of the old chief.

Suddenly a form in white stood beside Umatilla. It was Gretchen. A white
arm was raised, and the martial strain of the "Wild Hunt of Lutzow"
marched out like invisible horsemen, and caused every Indian to listen.
Then there were a few sharp, discordant strains, and then the _Traumerei_
lifted its spirit-wings of music on the air.

[Music: Tranmerei.

BY ROBERT SCHUMANN, SIMPLIFIED BY F. BRANDEIS.]

[Music]

[Music]

The murmurs ceased. The plain grew still. "Romance" followed, and then the
haunting strain of the _Traumerei_ rose again. It ceased. Lights began to
glimmer here and there. Peace-pipes were being lighted.

"You have saved your people," said Umatilla. "Play it again."

Again and again the dream-music drifted out on the air. The plain was now
filled with peace-pipes. When the last blended tones died away, the whole
tribe were seated on the long plateau, and every old warrior was smoking a
pipe of peace.

Gretchen saw that her spirit, through the violin, had calmed the sea. She
was sure now that she had rightly read her mission in life. Amid the scene
of glimmering peace-pipes, a heavenly presence seemed near her. She had
broken the traditions of centuries by the sympathetic thrill of four
simple strings. She felt that Von Weber was there in spirit, and Schumann.
She felt that her father's soul was near her; but, more than all, she felt
that she was doing the work of the Great Commission. She bowed her head on
the instrument, thought of poor, terrorized Mrs. Woods in her lonely home,
and wept.

A seen and unseen world had come to her--real life. She saw her power;
the gates of that mysterious kingdom, in which the reborn soul is a new
creation, had been opened to her. Her spirit seemed to rise as on
new-created wings, and the world to sink beneath her. She had spiritual
sight, ears, and senses--a new consciousness of Divine happiness. Her
purpose became strong to live for the soul alone, and she sung, over and
over again, amid the silence of the peace-pipes and the rising of those
puffs of smoke in the silver illumination of the high moon--

"In the deserts let me labor,
On the mountains let me tell."

CHAPTER XV.

THE TRAUMEREI AGAIN.

An hour passed in this mysterious and strange tranquillity--the noon hour
of night. The warriors seemed contented and satisfied. Many of them were
old; some of them remembered the comin