t she
started up, trembling. Surely these distant flutings were the pipes o'
Pan!

She set herself to listen, her tiny hands working convulsively. Nearer
and nearer the music came, singing of wind and stream and mountain--the
"music that had no tune." No sooner had it become clear than it ceased
altogether.

But, an hour or so afterward, when the moon had risen, there was a
familiar step upon the road outside. Veiled, Evelina went to the gate
and met Piper Tom, whose red feather was aloft in his hat again and
whose flute was slung over his shoulder by its accustomed cord. His
pedler's pack was not to be seen.

"I thought you had gone," she said.

"I had," he answered, "but 't is not written, I'm thinking, that a man
may not change his mind as well as a woman. My heart would not let my
feet go away from you until I knew for sure whether or not you were
mocking me last night."

"Mocking you? No! Surely you know I would never do that?"

"No, I did not know. The ways of women are strange, I'm thinking, past
all finding out. In truth, 't would be stranger if you were not
mocking me than it ever could be if you were. Tell me," he pleaded,
"ah, tell me what you were meaning, in words so plain that I can
understand!"

"Come," said Evelina; "come to where we were sitting last night and I
will tell you." He followed her back to the maple beside the broken
wall, where the two chairs still faced each other. He leaned forward,
resting his elbows on his knees, and looked at her so keenly that she
felt, in spite of the darkness and her veil, that he must see her face.

"Piper Tom," she said, "when you came to me, I was the most miserable
woman on earth. I had been most cruelly betrayed, and sorrow seized
upon me when I was not strong enough to stand it. It preyed upon me
until it became an obsession--it possessed me absolutely, and from it
there was no escape but death."

"I know," answered the Piper. "I found the bottle that had held the
dreamless sleep. I'm thinking you had thrown it away."

"Yes, I had thrown it away, but only because I was too proud to die at
his door--do you understand?"

"Yes, I'm thinking I understand, but go on. You've not told me whether
or no you mocked me. What did you mean?"

"I meant," said Evelina, steadfastly, "that if you cared for the woman
you had led out of the shadow of the cypress, and for all that was in
her heart to give you, she was yours. Not only out of grati