elf in the hedge that,
unseen, I might hear it sing; and at night I waited till I could hear
the nightingale. I have heard the river singing, and the music of the
trees. At first I thought that this must be sin, since ye condemn the
human voice that sings, but I could feel no guilt. I heard men and women
sing upon the village green, and I sang also. I heard bands of music.
One instrument seemed to me more than all the rest. I bought one
like it, and learned to play. It was the flute--its note so soft and
pleasant. I learned to play it--years ago--in the woods of Beedon beyond
the hill, and I have felt no guilt from then till now. For these things
I have no repentance."

"Thee has had good practice in deceit," said the shrill Elder.

Suddenly David's manner changed. His voice became deeper; his eyes
took on that look of brilliance and heat which had given Luke Claridge
anxious thoughts.

"I did, indeed, as the spirit moved me, even as ye have done."

"Blasphemer, did the spirit move thee to brawl and fight, to drink and
curse, to kiss a wanton in the open road? What hath come upon thee?"
Again it was the voice of the shrill Elder.

"Judge me by the truth I speak," he answered. "Save in these things my
life has been an unclasped book for all to read."

"Speak to the charge of brawling and drink, David," rejoined the little
Elder Meacham with the high collar and gaze upon the ceiling.

"Shall I not speak when I am moved? Ye have struck swiftly; I will draw
the arrow slowly from the wound. But, in truth, ye had good right to
wound. Naught but kindness have I had among you all; and I will answer.
Straightly have I lived since my birth. Yet betimes a torturing unrest
of mind was used to come upon me as I watched the world around us. I
saw men generous to their kind, industrious and brave, beloved by
their fellows; and I have seen these same men drink and dance and give
themselves to coarse, rough play like young dogs in a kennel. Yet, too,
I have seen dark things done in drink--the cheerful made morose, the
gentle violent. What was the temptation? What the secret? Was it but the
low craving of the flesh, or was it some primitive unrest, or craving of
the soul, which, clouded and baffled by time and labour and the wear of
life, by this means was given the witched medicament--a false freedom, a
thrilling forgetfulness? In ancient days the high, the humane, in search
of cure for poison, poisoned themselves, and then appli