em; only lean upon the Father, for
He is very strong; and remember that though the voice of melody is
sweet, yet the loving heart is deeper yet." And then Paul suddenly broke
out into a passion of weeping, and kissed his old friend on hand and
cheek and lips; and then he burst away, ashamed, if the truth be told,
that his love was not deeper than he found it to be.

He slept a light sleep that night, his head pillowed on his hand, with
many strange dreams ranging through his head. Among other fancies, some
sweet, some dark, he heard a delicate passage of melody played, it
seemed to him, by three silver-sounding flutes, so delicate that he
could hardly contain himself for gladness; but among his sadder dreams
was one of a little man habited like a minstrel who played an ugly
enchanted kind of melody on a stringed lute, and smiled a treacherous
smile at him; Paul woke in a sort of fever of the spirit; and rising
from his bed, felt the floor cool to his feet, and drew his curtain
aside; in a tender radiance of dawn he saw the barn, deep in shadow, in
the little garden; and over them a little wood-end that he knew well by
day--a simple place enough--but now it had a sort of magical dreaming
air; the mist lay softly about it like the breath of sleep; and the
trees, stretching wistfully their leafy arms, seemed to him to be full
of silent prayer, or to be hiding within them some divine secret that
might not be shown to mortal eyes. He looked long at this; and presently
went back to his bed, and shivered in a delicious warmth, while outside,
very gradually, came the peaceful stir of morning. A bird or two fluted
drowsily in the bushes; then another further away would join his slender
song; a cock crew cheerily in a distant grange, and soon it was broad
day. Presently the house began to be softly astir; and the faint
fragrance of an early kindled fire of wood stole into the room. Then
worn out by his long vigil he fell asleep again; and soon waking, knew
it to be later than was his wont, and dressed with haste. He came down,
and heard voices in the hall; he went in, and there saw Mistress Alison
in her chair; and on the hearth, talking gaily and cheerily, stood Mark
the minstrel. They made a pause when he came in. Mark extended his hand,
which Paul took with a kind of reverence. Then Mistress Alison, with her
sweet old smile, said to Paul, "So you made a pilgrimage to the Well of
the Heart's Desire, dear Paul? Well, you have you