'Twas a sweep of the same lute, a silver chord of melody that caught his ear. Breathlessly the trio listened, and soon these words pealed forth:
He comes! He comes in clouds of glory!
Haste, oh! haste to meet thy God!
Angels, hymn the thrilling story,
How on earth his footsteps trod;
How those footsteps, faint and weary,
Tracked thy path, thy soul to save.
Quit, oh! quit sin's path, so dreary,
Plunge thee in the saving waves.
Ransomed is thy soul for ever,
Ransomed by his precious blood,
If but now from sin thou sever,
Cleansed in the redeeming flood.
Haste! oh haste! he comes to save thee,
Then no more let sin enslave thee!
"'Tis the same voice!" Why did Magas turn pale as he said so? The trio separated to search the glades, the bushes, the thickets; every nook and corner was probed in vain. The muse, mentor, genius, or spirit, whatever it might be, was not to be found.
Chapter II.
"Chione!"
"Magas!"
"Have I found thee at last?"
"Alas!"
Chione covered her face with her hands, her bosom heaved, tears trickled through her fingers; it was no gladsome greeting that she bestowed on her lover, yet it was she who had sought this interview, or rather had given opportunity for it, even while pretending to hide herself, and to shun the meeting she sought.
"A whole year have you been invisible, my Chione; a whole year have I sought you in vain; and, now that we meet, you do not throw your-self into my arms for very joy; you turn away, and your eyes are filled with tears!"