fallen on the shoulders of Rachel. If he had
been a sovereign he could have taken her freely, and purple-wearing
Egypt would have kissed her sandal; but he occupied a place that could
provide with honor only him who was born to it.

To lift Rachel to that position would be to expose her to the affronts
of an undemocratic society. On the other hand he might sacrifice name
and station and go down to her; but he was not to be judged harshly
because he hesitated at this step.

Rachel had given him no sign of preference beyond a pretty fellowship.
In the beginning this realization had hurt him, but as he tossed night
after night, troubled beyond expression, he remembered this thing with
some melancholy comfort. It was a sorry solution of his problem to
feel that he was unloved, and even while he recognized its efficacy, he
prayed that it might not be so.

His heavy heart did not retard the progress of his statue or make its
beauty indifferent. The more he suffered the greater the passion in
the face. He labored daily and tirelessly.

But day by day he looked, unseen, on his love in the valley, and the
oftener he looked the more irresolute he grew. The conflict between
his heart and his reason was gradually shifting in favor of his love.

His longing, as it continued to crave, grew from hunger to starving,
and though his reason pointed to disastrous results, his heart
justified itself in the blind cry, "Rachel, Rachel!"

He had endured a month before his fortitude succumbed entirely. Once
near sunset, as Rachel was proceeding toward the camp from some helpful
mission to the quarries, she caught the fragments of a song, so
distantly and absently sung that she could not locate it. There were
singers among the Israelites, but they sang with wild exultation and
more care for the sense than the melody. They had cultivated the chant
and forgotten the lyric, because they had more heart for prophecy than
passion. Rachel had revered her people's song, but there was something
in this half-heard music that touched her youth and her love of life.
She stopped to hear it well.

It had all the power and profundity of the male voice, but it was as
subdued, as flawless and sympathetic as a distant, deep-toned bell.
There was not even a breath of effort in it, nor an insincere
expression, and it pursued a theme of little range and much simplicity.
The singer sang as spontaneously as a bird sings. She did not catch
the words