She sang. “Let me forget,” she thought to herself, “let me forget the present and the future; let me live in the past.” So she sang one after another the songs that she and David had loved and sung together. And as she sang, there crept over the listeners that strange, deep drowsiness that so often seemed to follow as a result of her sweet, pure music.
SO SHE SANG ONE AFTER ANOTHER
THE SONGS THAT SHE AND DAVID
HAD LOVED
One by one the men and women yawned, their heads began to nod, the fires in the pipes smouldered and finally burned out, the glasses of wine on the tables were left untasted. Eyes closed, heads drooped at all sorts of strange and uncomfortable-looking angles; and soon sounds of heavy breathing, that rose to the volume of deep snores, filled the room. Still Ruth sang, for still not all were sleeping. The King would rouse himself every now and then as if striving to shake off the stupor that sought to gain possession of him.
A strange, strange sound floated in through the open window—a sound as of the rushing of mighty wings. Ruth paused a moment to listen—then she heard the clear, high note of David’s whistle! As the last note rang its welcome message through her throbbing heart, she sang the answering notes which, she knew, would convey to David the message he longed to hear.
A huge moth flew in through the open window, bumped about among the candles for a while, then alighted upon the bald spot on the King’s head and walked across the smooth surface, dragging its wings as it moved.
Ruth almost laughed aloud—but no, it was too serious a moment to yield to such an impulse.
The moth tickled the King. He awoke—opened his eyes—brushed his hand impatiently across his forehead—rose from his chair.