an sang every
night to me, he would make me want the other. Whether David's singing
would send me to his, I do not feel sure. But how silly to compare them!
As well compare the temple in Accho with the roar of a whirlwind--"

"Or the point of my lance with the flight of an eagle. The men are in
two worlds."

"O, no! that is saying too much. You said that one could paint
pictures--"

"--Into which the other puts life. Yes, I did say so. We are fortunate
that we have them together."

"For this man sings of men quite as well as the other does; and to have
the other sing of God--"

"--Why, it completes the song. Between them they bring the two worlds
together."

"He bows the heavens, and comes down," said the boy of the olive-harp,
trying to hum David's air.

"Let us ask them--"

And just then there rang along the valley the sound of a distant
conch-shell. The soldiers groaned, roused up, and each looked for his
own side-arms and his own skin.

But the poets talked on unheeding.

The old chief knocked down a stack of lances; but the crash did not
rouse them. He was obliged himself to interrupt their eager converse.

"I am sorry to break in; but the night-horn has sounded to rest, and the
guard will be round to inspect the posts. I am sorry to hurry you away,
sir," he said to David.

David thanked him courteously.

"Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest," said Homer, with a smile.

"We will all meet to-morrow. And may to-night's dreams be good omens!"

"If we dream at all," said Homer again:--

"Without a sign his sword the brave man draws,
And asks no omen but his country's cause."

They were all standing together, as he made this careless reply to the
captain; and one of the young men drew him aside, and whispered that
David was in arms against his country.

Homer was troubled that he had spoken as he did. But the young Jew
looked little as if he needed sympathy. He saw the doubt and regret
which hung over their kindly faces; told them not to fear for him;
singing, as he bade them good night, and with one of the Carmel-men
walked home to his own outpost:--

"The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion,
The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the bear,
He will deliver me."

And he smiled to think how his Carmelite companion would start, if he
knew when first he used those words.

So they parted, as men who should meet on the morrow.

But God