For he was not so far
blinded by her beauty and by what he guessed her character to be, as to
imagine that he really knew her. He only knew what he hoped she was,
what he believed the soul must be that looked out of those kind,
beautiful eyes, and that found utterance in that wonderful voice which
could control him and move him by a word.

He felt, as he looked at the group before him, how lonely his own life
had been, how hard he had worked for so little--for what other men
found ready at hand when they were born into the world.

He felt almost a touch of self-pity at his own imperfectness; and the
power of his will and his confidence in himself, of which he was so
proud, seemed misplaced and little. And then he wondered if he had not
neglected chances; but in answer to this his injured self-love rose to
rebut the idea that he had wasted any portion of his time, and he
assured himself that he had done the work that he had cut out for
himself to do as best he could; no one but himself knew with what
courage and spirit. And so he sat combating with himself, hoping one
moment that she would prove what he believed her to be, and the next,
scandalized at his temerity in daring to think of her at all.

The spell lifted as the music ceased, and Clay brought himself back to
the moment and looked about him as though he were waking from a dream
and had expected to see the scene disappear and the figures near him
fade into the moonlight.

Young Langham had taken a guitar from one of the musicians and pressed
it upon MacWilliams, with imperative directions to sing such and such
songs, of which, in their isolation, they had grown to think most
highly, and MacWilliams was protesting in much embarrassment.

MacWilliams had a tenor voice which he maltreated in the most villanous
manner by singing directly through his nose. He had a taste for
sentimental songs, in which "kiss" rhymed with "bliss," and in which
"the people cry" was always sure to be followed with "as she goes by,
that's pretty Katie Moody," or "Rosie McIntyre." He had gathered his
songs at the side of camp-fires, and in canteens at the first
section-house of a new railroad, and his original collection of ballads
had had but few additions in several years. MacWilliams at first was
shy, which was quite a new development, until he made them promise to
laugh if they wanted to laugh, explaining that he would not mind that
so much as he would the idea that he tho