“Hark!” she exclaimed.
The notes of a piano sounded faintly clear in the stillness. As the harmonies dissolved and merged, a voice rose above them, resonant and glorious, rose and sank and pleaded and laughed and loved, while the two young listeners leaned unconsciously toward each other in their saddles. Silence fell again. The very forest life itself seemed hushed in a listening trance.
“Heavens!” whispered Banneker. “Who is it?”
“Camilla Van Arsdale, of course. Didn’t you know?”
“I knew she was musical. I didn’t know she had a voice like that.”
“Ten years ago New York was wild over it.”
“But why—”
“Hush! She’s beginning again.”
Once more the sweep of the chords was followed by the superb voice while the two wayfarers and all the world around them waited, breathless and enchained. At the end, Banneker said dreamily:
“I’ve never heard anything like that before. It says everything that can’t be said in words alone, doesn’t it? It makes me think of something—What is it?” He groped for a moment, then repeated: