and her head had sunk on his shoulder heavy with sleep ;
she had not tried to keep aAvake one moment after knowing
that it was Phratos who had come for her ; she loved him,
and in his hold feared nothing.
Taric lay on the ledge of the rock, deaf with the torpor
of a half-drunken slumber, dreaming gloomily; his hand
playing in his dreams with the knife that was thrust in
Phratos stepped gently past him, and through the out¬
stretched forms of the dogs and men, and across the died-
out embers of the fire, over which the emptied soup-kettle
still swung, as the night-breeze blew to and fro its chain.
No one heard him.
He went out from their circle and down the path of the
gorge in silence, carrying the child. She Avas folded in a
piece of sheepskin, and in her hair there Avere still the
sequins. They glittered in the white light as he went; as
the Avind blew, it touched the chords of the viol on his
shoulder, and struck a faint musical sighing sound from
" Is it morning ? " the child murmured, half asleep.
" No, dear ; it is night." he answered her, and she was
content and slept again—the strings of the viol sending a
soft Avhisper in her drowsy ear, each time that the breeze
arose and swept across them.
When the morning came it found him far on his road,
leaving behind him the Liebana.
There folloAved a bright month of autumn weather. The
child Avas happy as she had never been.
They moved on continually through the plains and the
fields, the hills and the woods, the hamlets and the cities ;
but she and the viol were never weary. They rode aloft
whUst he toiled on. Yet neither was he weary, for the
viol murmured in the wind, and the child laughed in the
It was late in the year.
The earth and sky were a blaze of russet and purple, and
scarlet and gold. The air was keen and swift, and strong
like wine. A summer fragrance blended with a Avinter
frost. The grape harvest had been gathered in, and had
been" plentiful, and the people were liberal and of good