"Ah! that we shall never know. "In a distant land far over the sea we were once wandering on a rich-coloured autumn morning, and there we found, on the grey steps of a church, an infant of marvellous beauty. Her pearly limbs were enfolded in fine linen and lace. We had mercy upon the innocent babe, for our hearts have not the colour of our faces; and since that blessed day she has been the joy of our tribe and the pride of both young and old. "But when she grew to the age when she could talk, not a syllable could we understand. Her eyes for ever were searching the skies, and her words spoke of things she alone could perceive. Even I, who am wise, could not follow her sayings. "But gradually an inner voice told me that there was something holy about this stranger maiden, something which removed her far from us, something that mortal hands should not touch. "Then I understood that God had laid His hand upon her brain. Now she seldom speaks, but always plays these heartrending notes. Hark, fair stranger, listen if it is not unearthly and sweet." Eric listened with all his soul; never before had such music come to his ears. It was full of tears, and sighs, and hopes, and dreams; it was heavenly indeed, and yet a sobbing human chord pierced the whole, with a never-ending cry for the things that every poor mortal needs. It rose and fell, carried upon the changing tides of love and hope; it contained a yearning effort, a boundless longing, towards that land of chimeras and dreams beyond the boundaries of the earth. Every chord seemed strung to a pulsing heart bound and fettered, yet gasping to be free. Then it changed into an intensity of peace, like the soft winds of night descending slowly upon the heat and toil of the day; dying away into fading notes always fainter and sweeter, like the first breath of spring over sleeping woods, like the hushed voice of a great sadness that can still hope and believe ... and then, quite suddenly, there was silence, and only the summer breeze stirred amongst the boughs of the trees. XXI At last! The fount of beauty, Fountain of all dreams, Now am I come upon my long desire. FIONA MACLEOD. Each day Eric came to this spot of beauty to look upon the being who was the realization of his soul's desire. But the terrible mystery, that God allowed, was that this girl never even seemed to see that he was there. Eric Gundian, who was adored of all--Eric of the golden locks, Eric the sweet-voiced,--could not make her eyes realize his presence. The wandering people had received him into their hearts, as every man did upon whom he turned and smiled. They gave him a tent and begged him never more to depart.