strangely audible and felt rather than understood.

On that day she did not see anybody either. She drove her charges home
in the evening listlessly and the beasts also were very quiet.

When the music came again she made no effort to discover where it came
from. She only listened, and when the tune was ended she saw a figure
rise from the fold of a little hill. The sunlight was gleaming from his
arms and shoulders but the rest of his body was hidden by the bracken,
and he did not look at her as he went away playing softly on a double
pipe.

The next day he did look at her. He stood waist-deep in greenery
fronting her squarely. She had never seen so strange a face before. Her
eyes almost died on him as she gazed and he returned her look for a long
minute with an intent, expressionless regard. His hair was a cluster of
brown curls, his nose was little and straight, and his wide mouth
drooped sadly at the corners. His eyes were wide and most mournful, and
his forehead was very broad and white. His sad eyes and mouth almost
made her weep.

When he turned away he smiled at her, and it was as though the sun had
shone suddenly in a dark place, banishing all sadness and gloom. Then he
went mincingly away. As he went he lifted the slender double reed to his
lips and blew a few careless notes.

The next day he fronted her as before, looking down to her eyes from a
short distance. He played for only a few moments, and fitfully, and then
he came to her. When he left the bracken the girl suddenly clapped
her hands against her eyes affrighted. There was something different,
terrible about him. The upper part of his body was beautiful, but the
lower part.... She dared not look at him again. She would have risen and
fled away but she feared he might pursue her, and the thought of such
a chase and the inevitable capture froze her blood. The thought of
anything behind us is always terrible. The sound of pursuing feet is
worse than the murder from which we fly--So she sat still and waited but
nothing happened. At last, desperately, she dropped her hands. He was
sitting on the ground a few paces from her. He was not looking at her
but far away sidewards across the spreading hill. His legs were crossed;
they were shaggy and hoofed like the legs of a goat: but she would not
look at these because of his wonderful, sad, grotesque face. Gaiety is
good to look upon and an innocent face is delightful to our souls,
but no woman can resist