She glanced at him swiftly.
"I thought the songs came quickly."
He shook his head.
"The others, yes; but not this one. It is not like the others. It is so sweet and gentle—far away—and pure like the snow.... It calls me—" He broke off, gazing earnestly at the beautiful, high-bred face, with its downcast eyes.
"Nein! I cannot speak it," he said softly. "But the song it will speak it for me—when I come."
She lifted her head, and held out her hand with a gesture half shy and very sweet.
The moonlight veiled her. "I shall wait," she said gently—"for the song."
He held the slender hand for a moment in his own; then it was laid lightly against his lips, and turning, he had disappeared among the shadows.