, dully. It seemed a matter of small moment
to her.

"I'll not be paining you with that," the Piper answered, "At the last,
't was I who killed him to save him from further hurt. 'T was the best
I could do for the little lad, and I'm thinking he'd take it from me
rather than from any one else. I'm missing his cheerful bark and his
pleasant ways, but I've taken him away for ever from Doctor Dexter and
his kind."

"Doctor Dexter!" Evelina sprang to her feet, her body tense and
quivering.

"Aye, Doctor Dexter--not the young man, but the old one."

A deep-drawn breath was her only answer, but the Piper looked up,
startled. Slowly he rose to his feet and leaned toward her intently,
as though to see her face behind her veil.

"Spinner in the Shadow," he said, with infinite tenderness, "I'm
thinking 't was he who hurt you, too!"

Evelina's head drooped, she swayed, and would have fallen, had he not
put his arm around her. She sat down on the step again, and hid her
veiled face in her hands.

"'T was that, I'm thinking, that brought me to you," he went on. "I
knew you did not care much for the little lad--he was naught to any one
but me. 'T is this that binds us together--you and I."

The moon climbed higher into the heavens and the clouds were blown
away. The shadow of the cypress was thrown toward them, and the dense
night of it concealed the half-open door.

"See," breathed Evelina, "the shadow of the cypress is long."

"Aye," answered Piper Tom, "the shadow of the cypress is long and the
rose blooms but once a year. 'T is the way of the world."

He loosened his flute from the cord by which it was slung over his
shoulder. "I was going to the woods," he said, "but at the last, I
could not, for the little lad always fared with me when I went out to
play. He would sit quite still when I made the music, so still that he
never frightened even the birds. The birds came, too.

"'T is a way I've had for long," he continued. "I never could be
learning the printed music, so I made music of my own. So many laughed
at it, not hearing any tune, that I've always played by myself. 'T was
my own soul breathing into it--perhaps I'm not to blame that it never
made a tune.

"Sometimes I'm thinking that there may be tunes and tunes. I was once
in a place where there were many instruments, all playing at once, and
there was nothing came from it that one could call a tune. But 't was
great and beautiful beyond a