"Sing, sing, little bird—sing to thy shy mate whom thou lovest; but though I may not sing as sweetly, thy song is no gladder than is mine when I think of my Princess. O night-singer, would that I could learn thy song and so sing to my love—to my Edgiva!"
Then a little voice spoke in his ear, and a little hand stole around his neck, and the voice said softly—
"But, perchance, thy Edgiva might better love to hear thy words in thine own voice than in the sweetest tones of the night-singer, Wulnoth."
And he turned and beheld his Princess, and he took her in his arms, and she made no struggle, but yielded gladly as a tired bird nestles in its nest; and she turned her face towards his own and called him Wulnoth, and love, and hero, and true one; and it was happy peace time for them both.
"All the world seems beautiful, dear love," he said to her. "It is like the land of the fairies to my eyes, such is the happiness that comes from love that has found its answer and its mate."
"Dearest," she said, "perchance also it is because of a greater happiness which comes to us from Him Whom we serve. We have found the meaning of Wyborga's sign now, sweetheart, though it seemed so strange to us when we were children away there in Lethra."
And so they two stood, and their hearts were too full for speech, yet in their very silence they seemed to talk and tell each other of their love, which had grown and grown all through the long years of their waiting.
And while they stood thus, from the shadows came the sound of a harp and the voice of a singer, and thus the unseen sang—
Sweet is the peace time,
Sweet is the moonlight,
Sweet is the love-song
Of the night-singer.
He to his loved one
Sings in the shadow,
Calling her to him
Waiting there lonely.
Sweet is the bird-song
Heard in the moonlight.