Waterbury evening Democrat., 1903-11-11


 pause long enough to excite my ap- prehension, responded with "The River and the Rose" I thought the line, What hast thou done with the rose" might have some reference to my slighted token of flowers, but this idea did not come to me till the song was done. While she sang it was impossi- ble to think of anything. It was matter of pure emotion. However, since questions were in order, did my poor best with "Who Is Sylvia?
 was in hopes that her reply would throw some light upon the question, Who Is the girl in the orchard? But for some minutes l was rewarded only by chords of the guitar, untranslatable, not meant to be understood.
 Then the girl began 10 sing even more softly than usual, as if to herself. have never been able to understand the acoustic properties of that spot. The little cliff might we'll have acted as a sort. of sounding board, but the ascending column of air due to the fire should have neutralized the effect and to a certain degree untitled the tone to my ear. Yet there was a spot upon the water where I could get a most remarkable illusion of nearness. The singer would seem to be beside me, and more than once I felt that strange chill of the supernatural and looked almost fearfully into the shadows that were cleft by the path of light. This time the miracle was twofold, for not only was the voice incredibly near, but the girl was singing my Swiss song, which she couldn't possibly know.
 She sang only q part of it, and I could not make out whether she was using my words or indeed any words at all. But it was my song for cer- tainty. The incident belonged in dream land, where the melody itself was born. had sung it very little abroad, prob ably not more than half a dozen times, except when alone. The manuscript was nailed up in a box with various documents, papers and books contain ing records of laboratory work which had shipped from Germany. had seen that box unopened in our house since my return.
 In New York I had not sung except in my room at the hotel when my father was there, and once afterward to Gushing. If had favored either of them with that particular composition, beyond a doubt I should have told the story of 1t, and I could not remember to have done so. In fact, I would have staked my head that the song had never been heard in this country until the girl gave voice to 1t there upon the rocks behind her veil of flame.
 It seemed that she did not know it all, for she broke off in the middle of a phrase and went back to the begin ming. This must be by way of sug gestion to me, and so | sang the strange little song, being inspired to fairly creditable performance by the fitness of the theme. When I had fin ished! there came a faint sound across the water like the clapping of hands. Then the fire was scattered suddenly, almost as if there had been an explo- sion in the midst of it, and saw for moment dark figure, whether of man or woman I could not tell, but it seemed not to be hers. Darkness and silence followed. The moon that had shone in the earlier part of the evening was now obscured by a heavy cloud, though most of the sky was clear.
 was at a loss to explain the cessa- tion of the music and the sudden ex- tinguishing of the fire. It could not be due to any transgression of mine. I would have wished to proiong the scene until midnight, for all those in- fluenceS that arise no man knows whence and work upon hitherto un- known possibilities of the soul were strong with me. I would not know how to give the feeling a name. A man cannot love a voice nor give his heart to a woman who Is to him only gown seen at distance and a gesture of the hand. Indeed, in my case there was no certainty that the voice, the gown and the hand belonged to the same woman. She who sang upon the rocks in the evenings might not be she who sketched in the shadow of the big umbrella by day. Perhaps 1t makes no difference what I felt, nor for whom. The point is that 1 felt it. My eyes were fixed upon the faint glow of the embers in the vain hope that the goddess of the place might rekindle the flame upon the sacred tripod.
 A little whispering breeze, cold as dead hand, touched my face. It came from the shore, and immediately the boats bow began to swing outward. took up the oar to keep her head up, but before could dip 1t was looking straight out into the lake. And then the moon touched the edge of a cloud, and I perceived a gray shadow which knew to be boat, Beyond doubt the girl had seen it and had resented an intrusion.
 She was the queen of that land, and was her navy. The fellow in the other boat was worse than an enemy he was pirate. I put my paddle into the water with great force. The pirate bent to his oars with haste, but before he could swing around and gather headwaY I was almost alongside. The moon frightened, and I recognized Scovel.
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