Herbert stood still; his eyes were lifted, the gaze in them far away, and one foot beat the measure. Beside him stood the Trapper. His arms were crossed; his eyes were on the bow that the Lad was drawing, and his body swayed, lifted and sank in perfect harmony with the motions and the accompanying sound, with a grace which nature only reaches when the will is utterly surrendered to a power that has charmed the stiffness and tension out of the frame and made it yielding and responsive. At last the music stopped; and with it stopped each form. Each foot was arrested at the point to which the sound had carried it when it paused. Each couple stood in perfect pose. The motive power which moved them was withdrawn, and the limbs stood motionless as if the soul that gave them animation had retired. They had been lifted to another world--a world of impulse and movement more airy and spirit-like than the gross earth,--and it took a moment for them to struggle back to ordinary life. But in a moment thought recalled them to themselves, and they realized the mastery of the power that had held them at its will and the applause broke out in showers of happy tumult. They crowded around the Lad--strong men and beautiful women,--gazing at him in wonder; then broke up into knots talking and marvelling. To the old Trapper's face, as he gazed at the Lad, a strange look came,--the look of a man to whose soul has come a revelation so pure and sweet that he is unable at first to compass it with his understanding. He came close to the Lad, and, sitting down on the edge of the platform, put his hand on the knee of the youth, and said: