"Where are you going, Natalia?" Mrs. Houston cried after her.
Without answering she walked to the gate and went rapidly up the walk. Reaching the steps to the main door, she seemed to change her mind quickly and went along the side of the building until she was just beneath an open window. Here she sank behind the protection of a shrub, and sat perfectly still.
The voice that had drawn her was very near now. She could hear the words distinctly; they came in a steady stream, mellow, soft, fluent.
At first she attempted to follow the words, vainly trying to force her thoughts into a comprehension of the reasoning employed. She soon found that useless; and with a long sigh in which a deep contentment enveloped her, she abandoned herself to the luxury of listening only to the music of the voice. It was sweet and clear like the ringing of silver bells in the early morning; it was deep and modulated and resounding, like the veiled diapason of a Cathedral organ; it was winning and gentle and fresh, bringing to her in some indefinable way, the faint fragrance of delicate flowers.
Suddenly the years dropped away. It was all a dream—her thinking she was really grown. She was sitting on the terrace under the big magnolia tree and the schoolmaster was reading to her. It was such a very sad story he was reading; she could hardly keep back the tears, for it was all about some poor lady who sewed all day on her dress and had to spend the night ripping it. She had cried, she remembered now; and when he had asked her why, she had been so ashamed and said it was because she hated her frock so—a red and purple poplin that had come all the way from Boston. And then they were sitting there again, one cold winter afternoon, and were watching the sun sink behind the black, frosty lowlands. She had asked him why the Indians had called it the Land of the Setting Sun, and he had told her wonderful stories of a race that had inhabited all this country and were forced, step by step, to go out into that distant wilderness where the sun set every night. Trifling incidents crowded one upon the other, accentuating the reality of the vision, until she suffered as keenly, throbbed with as great a joy, as she had in living those days.
A slight pause came.
Then the flowing words continued. But in that moment the dreams had vanished. She knew now what the voice meant. It was fighting for her lover's life, her happiness. Her whole future was dependent on its continuance, its force, its compelling magnetism. She felt it now in every fibre of her being. It filled her with an indefinable happiness. She understood so well what it meant; it was the full glory of his love. She was satisfied now that he had carried her to that dizzy height with him. She would never forget; it would be with her for ever. In that lay its transcendent beauty. Through its divinity it would become eternal.
Suddenly the music ceased. She looked up. Mrs. Houston was leaning over her and saying something. Finally she understood the words:
"His speech is over. Come back to the carriage with me."
She rose from the ground and walked unsteadily back to the carriage. In a few minutes Judge Houston and Millicent had joined them.