irritability, though he wished that the Dachstein would not
dominate so persistently the sky-line--it was difficult to avoid the
view of this solitary and egotistic peak, the highest in Styria. He was
assigned a comfortable chamber, but the night was too fine for bed. He
did not feel sleepy, and he went along the road he had come by; the
church was an opaque mass, the spire alone showing in the violet
twilight, like some supernatural spar on a ship far out at sea. He
attempted to conjure to his tired brain the features, the expression, of
the girl. They would not reappear; his memory was traitorous.

The murmur of faint music, piano music, made his ears wince--how he
hated music! But afar as were these tonal silhouettes, traced against
the evening air, his practised hearing told him that they were made by
an artist. He languidly followed the clue, and soon he was at the gate
of a villa, almost buried in the bosk, and listening with all his
critical attention to a thrilling performance--yes, thrilling was the
word--of Chopin's music. What! The last movement of the B flat minor
sonata, the funeral march sonata, but no more like the interpretation he
had heard from others--from himself--than--than....

But, good heavens! _Who_ was playing! The unison passages that mount and
recede were iridescent columns of mist painted by the moonlight and
swaying rhythmically in the breeze. Here was something rare. No longer
conscious of the technical side of the playing, so spiritualized was it,
so crystalline the touch, Davos forgot his manners and slipped through
the gateway, through the dark garden, toward an open window in which
burned a solitary candle. The mystery of this window and the quicksilver
dartings of the music--gods, what a touch, what gossamer delicacy!--set
his heart throbbing. He forgot his sick nerves. When the trumpet blows,
the war-horse lusts for action--and this was not a trumpet, but a horn
of elf-land. He moved as closely as he dared to the window, and the
music ceased--naturally enough, the movement had concluded. His ears
burned with the silence. _She_ came to the window. Arrested by the
vision--the casement framed her in a delicious manner--he did not stir.
She could not help seeing this intruder, the light struck him full in
the face. She spoke:--

"Dear Mr. Davos, won't you come into the house? My father and my uncle
will be most happy to receive you."

* * * * *

She kn