CHAPTER XVII.
THE LAST OF SHADOW-LAND.
ONCE again there rang through the forest a strain of rich and gleeful music. Once more the moon rose, a bright, unbroken circle, to her station in the sky. A soft, rosy light lingered everywhere; flowers of rarer beauty than ever, bloomed in profusion; the murmur of the spring was sweeter than ever, and as Eva awoke, and looked at Aster, she saw that neither spot nor stain defaced his rich dress, but that it was as unsullied as her own. And as she looked upon her young companion, now as tall as herself, and with something in his bearing Eva had never been conscious of before,—something noble and princelike,—she heard a voice from the spring murmuring, in soft, melodious tones:
“’Tis the hour!
Aster’s flower
Here shall bloom!”
And oh! what a sweet smile curved Aster’s lips as he heard these words! Yet, when Eva would have spoken, he laid his hand gently upon her mouth, as though to command silence; and the child, feeling that their positions, somehow, were strangely reversed,—that it was now Aster’s turn to command and hers to obey,—was silent.