Lewiston evening teller. [volume] (Lewiston, Idaho) 1903-1911, 1903-11-09

beside it. and she seemed to be per-
forming some sort of incarnation. 1t
may be, however, that she was only
putting on some wood. Her face was
turned away, and suddenly she disap
peared into the invisible space beyond
the blaze.
sang a little .song of Schumann'S
because it was short. and the girl, after
a pause long enough to excite my ap-
nreheusiun, responded with The RlNer
and the Rose" l thought the line.
What hast thou done with the roseF'
might have some reference to my
sighted token of flowers, but this idea
did not come to me till the song was
done While she sang it was impossi-
Bile to think of anything. 1t 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 orchardE But
for some minutes | was rewarded only
by chords of the guitar, NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS.
not meant to be understood.
Then the girl began to sing even
more softly than usual, as if to herself.
I have never been. able to understand
the acoustic properties of that spot
The little cliff might well have acted
as a sort of sounding board, but the
ascending column of air due to the fire
should have neurrnlized the effect anc
to a certain degree mutfled the tone tc
my ear. Yet there was spot upon
the water where l could get most
remarkable illusion of nearness. The
singer would seem to be beside me,
and more than once l 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 a part of it, and !
could not make out whether she was
using my words or indeed any words
at all But it was my song for a GER
tainty. The incident belonged in dream
! land, where the melody itself was born.
/
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. l had
seen that box unopened in our house
since my return.
In New York l had not sung except
in my room at the hotel when my
father was there, and once afterward
to Gushing. If l had favored either of
them with that particular composition,
beyond a doubt | should have told the
story Of 1t, and | could not remember
to have done so. In fact, l would
have staked my head that the song had
never been heard in this country until
the girl gave voice to it there upon the
rocks behind her veil of flame.
1t seemed that she did not know it
ALL for she broke off in the middle of
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 a
fairly creditable performance by the
fitness of the theme. When | had fin
' ished, there came 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 l saw for a
moment a dark figure, whether of man
or woman | 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 heavy cloud,
though most of the sky was clear.
| was at loss to explain the cesSa-
ton of the music and the sudden ex-
tinguishing of the fire. 1t could not
be due to any transgression of mine.
would have wished to prolong the
scene until midnight, for all those in
fiuences that arise no man knows
whence and work upon hitherto un-
known possibilities of the soul Were
strong with me. | would not know
how to give the feeling name. A
man cannot love voice nor give his
heart to a woman who is to him only a
gown seen at a distance and gesture
VI Tie 1hdcCu, III my tAANA'
was no certainty that the voice, the
gown and the hand belonged to tho
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 it makes
no difference what l felt nor fol
whom. The point is that l felt it. My
eyes were fixed upon the faint glow Of
the embers in the vain hope that the
goddess of the place might rekindl'
the flame upon the sacred tripod.
A little whispering breeze, cold as
dead hand, touched my face. 1t came
from the shore, and immediately th'
boats bow began to swing outward.
took up the oar to keep her head up
but before L could dip it was looking
straight out into the lake. And theI
the moon touched the edge of cloud