Every chord seemed strung to a pulsing heart bound and fettered, yet gasping to be free.
Then it changed into an intensity of peace, like the soft winds of night descending slowly upon the heat and toil of the day; dying away into fading notes always fainter and sweeter, like the first breath of spring over sleeping woods, like the hushed voice of a great sadness that can still hope and believe ... and then, quite suddenly, there was silence, and only the summer breeze stirred amongst the boughs of the trees.
XXI
At last!
The fount of beauty, Fountain of all dreams,
Now am I come upon my long desire.
Fiona Macleod.
Each day Eric came to this spot of beauty to look upon the being who was the realization of his soul's desire.
But the terrible mystery, that God allowed, was that this girl never even seemed to see that he was there.
Eric Gundian, who was adored of all—Eric of the golden locks, Eric the sweet-voiced,—could not make her eyes realize his presence.