of river and flower music. And again her eyes were sad.

"What song is that?" he asked.

"It is a song sung by another Galatea," she answered, "who is my
mother." She laid her hand on his arm. "I will make it into English for
you." She sang:

"The River lies in flower and fern,
In flower and fern it breathes a song.
It breathes a song of your return,
Of your return in years too long.
In years too long its murmurs bring
Its murmurs bring their vain replies,
Their vain replies the flowers sing,
The flowers sing, 'The River lies!'"

Her voice quavered on the final notes; there was silence save for the
tinkle of water and the flower bugles. Dan said, "Galatea--" and paused.
The girl was again somber-eyed, tearful. He said huskily, "That's a sad
song, Galatea. Why was your mother sad? You said everyone was happy in
Paracosma."

"She broke a law," replied the girl tonelessly. "It is the inevitable
way to sorrow." She faced him. "She fell in love with a phantom!"
Galatea said. "One of your shadowy race, who came and stayed and then
had to go back. So when her appointed lover came, it was too late; do
you understand? But she yielded finally to the law, and is forever
unhappy, and goes wandering from place to place about the world." She
paused. "I shall never break a law," she said defiantly.

Dan took her hand. "I would not have you unhappy, Galatea. I want you
always happy."

She shook her head. "I _am_ happy," she said, and smiled a tender,
wistful smile.

They were silent a long time as they trudged the way homeward. The
shadows of the forest giants reached out across the river as the sun
slipped behind them. For a distance they walked hand in hand, but as
they reached the path of pebbly brightness near the house, Galatea drew
away and sped swiftly before him. Dan followed as quickly as he might;
when he arrived, Leucon sat on his bench by the portal, and Galatea had
paused on the threshold. She watched his approach with eyes in which he
again fancied the glint of tears.

"I am very tired," she said, and slipped within.

Dan moved to follow, but the old man raised a staying hand.

"Friend from the shadows," he said, "will you hear me a moment?"

Dan paused, acquiesced, and dropped to the opposite bench. He felt a
sense of foreboding; nothing pleasant awaited him.

"There is something to be said," Leucon continued, "and I say it without
desire to pain you, if