ter with forest gloom.
She was seated on the trunk of a fallen oak, and it seemed as if she had
sat herself down to weep in her dumb trouble, for her blind eyes were
still wet with tears. The river was murmuring at her feet; an old
olive-tree over her head was pattering with its multitudinous tongues;
the little family of a squirrel was chirping by her side, and one tiny
creature of the brood was squirling up her dress; a thrush was swinging
itself on the low bough of the olive and singing as it swung, and a
sheep of solemn face--gaunt and grim and ancient--was standing and
palpitating before her. Bees were humming, grasshoppers were buzzing,
the light wind was whispering, and cattle were lowing in the distance.
The air of that sweet spot in that sweet hour was musical with every
sweet sound of the earth and sky, and fragrant with all the wild odours
of the wood.

"My darling," cried Israel in the first outburst of his relief, and then
he paused and looked at her again.

The wet eyes were open, and they appeared to see, so radiant was the
light that shone in them. A tender smile played about her mouth; her
head was held forward; her nostrils quivered; and her cheeks were
flushed. She had pushed her hat back from her head, and her yellow hair
had fallen over her neck and breast. One of her hands covered one ear,
and the other strayed among the plants that grew on the bank beside her.
She seemed to be listening intently, eagerly, rapturously. A rare and
radiant joy, a pure and tender delight, appeared to gush out of her
beautiful face. It was almost as though she believed that everything she
heard with the great new gift which God had given her was speaking to
her, and bidding her welcome and offering her love; as if the garrulous
old olive over her head were stretching down his arms to sport with her
hair, and pattering; "Kiss me, little one! kiss me, sweet one! kiss
me! kiss me!"--as if the rippling river at her feet were laughing and
crying, "Catch me, naked feet! catch me, catch me!" as if the thrush
on the bough were singing, "Where from, sunny locks? where from? where
from?"--as if the young squirrel were chirping, "I'm not afraid, not
afraid, not afraid!" and as if the grey old sheep were breathing slowly,
"Pat me, little maiden! you may, you may!"

"God bless her beautiful face!" cried Israel. "She listens with every
feature and every line of it."

It was the awakening of her soul to the soul of music, and fro