listening, waiting, one step upward after
another, following the sound. As if in a trance she moved. Below her the
noise of falling water made a murmuring accompaniment to the music
dropping from above--an earth-made accompaniment to heaven-sent melody,
meeting and forming a perfect harmony in her heart as she climbed.
Gradually the horror and the sorrow fell away from her even, as the soul
shall one day shed its garment of earth, until at last she stood alone
and silent near David, etherealized in the faint light to a spirit-like
semblance of a woman.

With a glad pounding of his heart he sprang towards her. Scarcely
conscious of the act he held out both his arms, but she did not move.
She stood silently regarding him, her hands dropped at her side, then
with drooping head she turned and began wearily to descend the way she
had come. He followed her and took her hand. She let it lie passively in
his and walked on. He wished he might feel her fingers close warmly
about his own, but no, they were cold. She seemed wholly withdrawn from
him, and her face bore the look of one who was walking in her sleep, yet
he knew her to be awake.

"Miss Cassandra, speak to me," he begged, in quiet tones. "Don't walk
away until you tell me why you came."

She seemed then to become aware that he was holding her by the hand and
withdrew it, and in the faint light he thought she smiled. "It was just
foolishness. You will laugh at me. I heard the music, and I thought it
might be--you made it I reckon, but down there it sounded like it might
be the 'Voices.' You remember how they came to Joan of Arc, like we were
reading last week?" She began to walk on more hurriedly.

"I will go down with you," he said, "you thought it might be the voices?
What did they say to you?"

"Oh, don't go with me. I never heed the dark."

"Won't you let me go with you? What did the flute say to you? Can't you
tell me?"

She laughed a little then. "It was only foolishness. I reckon the
'Voices' never come these days. I have heard it before, but didn't know
where it came from. It just seemed to drop down from heaven like, and
this time it seemed some different, as if it might be the 'Voices'
calling. It was pretty, suh, far away and soft--like part--of
everything. My father's playing sounded sad most times, like sweet
crying, but this was more like sweet laughing. I never heard anything so
glad like this was, so I tried to find it. Now I know it is you who
m