erald.
"That is the Black Shore yonder, and the noise is that of the
Tree-browser's fiddle, in sooth a goodly noise. Approach we along the
moonglade! that is what we call the wake here. Pretty?"

"Lovely!" murmured Margaret. "Oh! but hush, and listen!"

The other canoes had slackened their speed, and now all four crept on
abreast over the luminous water. From the black shadow ahead forms began
to detach themselves, black rocks, dark trees stooping to the water's
edge, fir and pine, with here and there a white birch glimmering
ghostlike; and still the music rose, ever clearer and sweeter, thrilling
on the silent air. It seemed no voice of anything made by man; it was as
if the trees spoke, the rocks, the water, the very silence itself. But
now--now another tone was heard; a human voice this time, a full, rich
contralto, blending with the aerial notes of the violin.

"Over all the mountains is peace;
Among the tree-tops
Hardly a breath is stirring;
The birds are silent,
Silent in the woodland;
Only wait! only wait!
Soon thou too shalt rest."

"Harry Monmouth!" murmured the Colonel under his breath. "Am I alive, or
is this the gate of Heaven?"

"Oh! who is it?" whispered Margaret.

"Tintinnabula! rather a neat thing in voices, the Tintinnabula's. Nor
does the song altogether excite to strenutation. Ah! but that is the
best yet!"

The notes changed. It was Schubert's Serenade now that rose from voice
and violin together. No one stirred. The canoes were now close inshore,
and the long, soft fingers of fir and cedar brushed Margaret's cheek as
she sat motionless, spellbound. It was a world of soft darkness, black
upon black: the silver world they had just left seemed almost garish as
she looked back on it. Here in the cool shadow, the voices of the night
pouring forth their wonderful melody--"Oh!" she thought; "if this might
last forever!"

But it was over. Floating round a great rock that stretched far out from
the shore, they came upon the musicians, their canoe drawn up close to
the rock.

"Here they are!" cried Willy. "It's Bell and Jack, Kitty; I knew it was.
You are such a silly!"

"I don't care!" pouted Kitty. "It did sound like nymphs; I am sure that
is just the way they sound."

"You are quite right, Kitty," said her mother. "Children, you have given
us a great treat. May we not have some more?"

"Oh, we were only waiting for you," said