“Now we will walk on a little and turn our backs upon the forest and the cloud. Our moon is growing brighter. Every night after that wild cry has died away it rounds to fulness, and the stars, gaining brilliancy in the tingling air, glance and gleam with uncommon witchery. This is my natural home, Deborah; I love it, love it, with a wild, fierce love. I had rather hear that cry and laugh than any charm of music. I had rather see those scenes of agony and the world’s scenes of joy than any rose-bowered garden on the earth. Then when I sicken of both I turn to the moorland and the hill, the cold quietness that reckons naught of either pain or pleasure. I wander here on the ridge of hills and in the shadows of caves, and then with a sudden whimsical change of feeling I turn to social life again, and receive the courtesies of pretty women and the respect of men.” There was a long silence—not broken for a long time—till Deborah said, “Why are you so silent?” And the Spirit answered, “I am thinking—thinking—thinking—and why should I not think? Ting! Ting! Listen to the magic music in the wood. Will-o’-the-wisps are dancing everywhere. Harp strings and bells, neither of heaven or earth. Blue and purple. Red and yellow. Green and golden. Now in, now out. Ting! Ting! The magic music in the magic wood. Wild flowers and myrtle—black dust and dying leaves—stones smeared with blood—and the deep dull gurgle of the stream—raindrops distilled from the black cloud. Ting! Ting! Tinkle! Twinkle! Tired feet keep time to the magic sounds. Dull brains grow brilliant. Cold blood grows warm. Ting! Ting! Now in. Now out. Up and down. Unreal sounds in the Silent Forest. Unreal lights in the Blackened Paths. Ting! Ting! Silver bells, golden strings, and burning balls. Baubles for fools! What! Darkness and Silence! Silence and Darkness! Twin sisters. Grope! Grope! with trembling fingers and blinded eyes. Hark! The bitter cry! and the echo from the world. The worse the cry, the louder the laugh.” And whilst he spoke those glorious eyes were shining with a gloomy, far-off light. “He trusted in another man,” he said. Deborah shuddered. “That is what poor father did.” “I know. I know. God grant him a double blessing. God grant him a double blessing.” “He went one autumn night to meet a man. I held his coat and got his hat, and shut the door behind him. And when he came back I said, ‘Father, did you see him?’ And he looked at me and answered, ‘He—he did not come.’” “Poor father,” said the Spirit, softly. And overhead the star shone, and the magic moon was still high in heaven, and the waterfall sparkled, and the stream ran lightly on, and the hills were clear and the moorland frosty and cold.