tion with tales of a life which
even he could never have seen; she even sang to him old songs and
snatches of wonderful melodies which, in her childhood, had still
survived the advancing wave of silence that has overwhelmed the Bohemian
people within the memory of living man, bringing a change into the daily
life and temperament of a whole nation which is perhaps unparalleled in
any history. He listened, he smiled, he showed a faint pleasure and a
great understanding in all these things, and he came back day after
day to talk and listen again. But that was all. She felt that she could
amuse him without charming him.

And Unorna suffered terribly. Her cheek grew thinner and her eyes
gleamed with sudden fires. She was restless, and her beautiful hands,
from seeming to be carved in white marble, began to look as though they
were chiselled out of delicate transparent alabaster. She slept little
and thought much, and if she did not shed tears, it was because she
was too strong to weep for pain and too proud to weep from anger and
disappointment. And yet her resolution remained firm, for it was part
and parcel of her inmost self, and was guarded by pride on the one hand
and an unalterable belief in fate on the other.

To-day they sat together, as they had so often sat, among the flowers
and the trees in the vast conservatory, she in her tall, carved chair
and he upon a lower seat before her. They had been silent for some
minutes. It was not yet noon, but it might have been early morning in a
southern island, so soft was the light, so freshly scented the air, so
peaceful the tinkle of the tiny fountain. Unorna's expression was sad,
as she gazed in silence at the man she loved. There was something gone
from his face, she thought, since she had first seen him, and it was to
bring that something back that she would give her life and her soul if
she could.

Suddenly her lips moved and a sad melody trembled in the air. Unorna
sang, almost as though singing to herself. The Wanderer's deep eyes met
hers and he listened.

"When in life's heaviest hour
Grief crowds upon the heart
One wondrous prayer
My memory repeats.

"The harmony of the living words
Is full of strength to heal,
There breathes in them a holy charm
Past understanding.

"Then, as a burden from my soul,
Doubt rolls away,
And I believe--believe in tears,
And all is light--so light!"

She ceased, and