filled him and lifted his soul to follow the star.

Guided by the unseen hand that held the earth, the crescent moon and the star to their orbits, would he find the great happiness that should be not his alone, but also for the eyes uplifted to the mountain top and the heart waiting in the shadows for the one to be sent? Ah, surely, surely, for this had he come. He stooped to the arbutus blossoms to inhale their fragrance. He rose and, lifting his flute to his lips, played to solace his own waiting, inventing new caprices and tossing forth the notes daringly — delicately — rapturously — now penetrating and strong, now faintly following and scarcely heard, uttering a wordless gladness.

Under the great holly tree in the shadows Cassandra sat, watching, as he watched, the