"I think she looks as good as she is beautiful," said Margaret. "Does she really like me? I am very glad, for I know I shall love her."
"Don't you think she is the image of me?" asked Gerald, plaintively.
"No, I never thought of it!" said downright Margaret. "Oh! hark, Gerald; what is that? I hear music."
They listened. Directly in front of them lay a deep black shadow, and forth from this shadow stole notes of music, low, sweet, almost unearthly in their purity and clearness.
"Evidently the stunt of Tintinnabula and the Camelopard!" said Gerald. "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.