To-day they sat together, as they had so often sat, among the flowers and the trees in the vast conservatory, she in her tall, carved chair and he upon a lower seat before her. They had been silent for some minutes. It was not yet noon, but it might have been early morning in a southern island, so soft was the light, so freshly scented the air, so peaceful the tinkle of the tiny fountain. Unorna’s expression was sad, as she gazed in silence at the man she loved. There was something gone from his face, she thought, since she had first seen him, and it was to bring that something back that she would give her life and her soul if she could. Suddenly her lips moved and a sad melody trembled in the air. Unorna sang, almost as though singing to herself. The Wanderer’s deep eyes met hers and he listened. “When in life’s heaviest hour Grief crowds upon the heart One wondrous prayer My memory repeats. “The harmony of the living words Is full of strength to heal, There breathes in them a holy charm Past understanding. “Then, as a burden from my soul, Doubt rolls away, And I believe--believe in tears, And all is light--so light!” She ceased, and his eyes were still upon her, calm, thoughtful, dispassionate. The colour began to rise in her cheek. She looked down and tapped upon the carved arm of the chair with an impatient gesture familiar to her. “And what is that one prayer?” asked the Wanderer. “I knew the song long ago, but I have never guessed what that magic prayer can be like.” “It must be a woman’s prayer; I cannot tell you what it is.” “And are you so sad to-day, Unorna? What makes you sing that song?” “Sad? No, I am not sad,” she answered with an effort. “But the words rose to my lips and so I sang.” “They are pretty words,” said her companion, almost indifferently. “And you have a very beautiful voice,” he added thoughtfully. “Have I? I have been told so, sometimes.” “Yes. I like to hear you sing, and talk, too. My life is a blank. I do not know what it would be without you.” “I am little enough to--those who know me,” said Unorna, growing pale, and drawing a quick breath. “You cannot say that. You are not little to me.” There was a long silence. He gazed at the plants, and his glance wandered from one to the other, as though he did not see them, being lost in meditation. The voice had been calm and clear as ever, but it was the first time he had ever said so much, and Unorna’s heart stood still, half fire and half ice. She could not speak.