hurt me so here,” she put her hand to her throat, “where it always hurts me when I am sorry at anything, if I can hear you glad in the music — like you were that — night I thought you were the ‘Voices.’“

“Cassandra, it shall be glad for you, always.”

She looked into his eyes an instant with the clear light of understanding in her own. “But for you? It is for you I want it to be glad.”