That evening, as the glow in the west deepened and died away and the stars came out one by one and sent their slender rays down upon the hills, David sat on his rock with his flute in his hand, waiting for a moment to arrive when he could put it to his lips and send out the message of glad hopes he had sent before. She had asked that one little thing, that his music might still be glad, and so for Cassandra’s sake it must be.

He tried once and again, but he could not play. At last, putting away from him his repentant thoughts, he gave his heart full sway, saying to himself: “For this moment I will imagine harmlessly that my vision is all mine and my dream come true. It is the only way.” Then he played as if it were he whom she had kissed so passionately, instead of his flute; and thus it was the glad