not moonlight or dream-light.
She sprang to her feet and moved a step nearer the window. Then she
stopped, her hand at her side, her breath coming quickly. The high,
sweet notes were calling from the night. Swiftly she moved. The door
gave lightly beneath her touch. She crossed the smooth floor. She was by
his side. The music was around them, above them, shimmering. It held
them close. Slowly he turned his big, homely face and looked at her, but
the music did not cease. It hovered in the air above, high and pure and
sweet. The face of the young countess bent lower; a look of tenderness
waited in her subtle eyes.

He sprang to his feet, his hands outstretched to ward it off.

"Nein. It is not I. It is the music. You shall not be bewitched!" His
hands made swift passes, as if he would banish a spell.

She caught them to her and waited.

"Am I bewitched--Franz?" she said at last. The voice was very low. The
laughing eyes were looking into his.

"Ja, you are bewitched," he returned stoutly.

"And you?"

"I have only love for you."

"And I have only love for you," she repeated softly. She hummed a bit of
the melody and stopped, looking at him sweetly. "It is my song," she
questioned--"the song you went to seek for me?"

He lifted his head proudly.

"It came for you."

She nodded with brimming eyes. Her hands stole softly up to the big
face. They framed it in, with its look of pride, and touched it gently.
"Dear face!" she breathed, "dear ugly face--my music face!"

They moved swiftly apart. The figure of the count was in the open
doorway.

She moved forward serenely and slipped her hand in his.

"I am here, Father Johann," she said quietly.

His fingers closed about the white ones.

"Go outside, Cara. Wait there till I come."

Her dark, troubled eyes looked into his. They were not laughing now.

"Nay, father," she said gently, "it is you who will wait outside--while
we say farewell."

The count regarded her for a long moment, then he turned toward the
young musician, his face full of compassion and a kind of envy.

"My friend," he said slowly, "for five minutes I shall leave her with
you. You will go away--forever."

Schubert bowed proudly. His eyes were on the girl's face.

As the door closed, she turned to him, holding out her hands.

He took them in his, and they stood silent, looking into each other's
eyes.

She drew a long breath.

"What do people say when they are dying?" she asked.