they had
children of their own; and even death itself, that carried well-loved
souls into the dark world, seemed to forge new chains of faith and
loyalty. All this he could say and did say in his music. He knew it, he
divined it by some magical instinct; he could put into words and sounds
the secrets that others could not utter--and there his art stopped. It
could not bring him within the charmed circle--nay, it seemed to him
that it was even like a fence that kept him outside. He looked forward
to a time when his art of itself must fade, when other minstrels should
arise with new secrets of power; and what would become of him then?

He had by this time walked very far into the wood, and as he came down
through a little rise, covered with leafy thickets, he saw before him a
green track, that wound away among the trees. He followed it listlessly.
The track led him through a beech wood; the smooth and shapely stems,
that stood free of undergrowth, thickly roofed over by firm and glossy
autumn foliage, with the rusty fallen floor of last year's leaves
underfoot, brought back to him his delight in the sweet and fresh
world--so beautiful whatever the restless human heart desired in its
presence.

He became presently aware that he was approaching some dwelling, he knew
not what; and then the trees grew thinner; and in a minute he was out in
a little forest clearing, where stood, in a small and seemly garden,
inclosed with hedges and low walls and a moat, a forest lodge, a long
low ancient building, ending in a stone tower.

The place had a singular charm. The ancient battlemented house,
overgrown with ivy, the walls green and grey with lichens, seemed to
have sprung as naturally out of the soil as the trees among which it
stood, and to have become one with the place. He lingered for a moment
on the edge of the moat, looking at a little tower that rose out of the
pool, mirrored softly in the open spaces of the water, among the
lily-leaves. The whole place seemed to have a wonderful peace about it;
there was no sound but the whisper of leaves, and the doves crooning,
in their high branching fastnesses, a song of peace.

As Paul stood thus and looked upon the garden, a door opened, and there
came out a lady, not old, but well advanced in years, with a shrewd and
kindly face; and then Paul felt a sort of shame within him, for standing
and spying at what was not his own; and he would have hurried away, but
the lady waved her h