Our second reunion was similar in most ways to our first. Awakening at dawn when the first pale light was flowing in through the open window, I was enchanted to hear the trill of a bird-song, tremulous and ethereally sweet, the love-call of some unknown melodist to its mate. Somewhere, I remembered, I had been charmed by such a song before, for it had a quality all its own, a richness and plaintiveness that made it unforgettable. At first I could not recall when I had heard that sound, if in my own country or here in Sobul; then, as I lay listening in a pleasant revery, recognition came to me. It was precisely such a song that had captivated me a year ago just before Yasma's return! As I made this discovery, the song suddenly ended. Hopefully I staggered up from my couch; for a moment I stood peering through the window in a trance. Then there came a light tapping at the door. My heart gave a flutter; I was scarcely able to cry out, "Come in!" Slowly the door began to turn inward, creaking and groaning with its reluctant motion. But I ran to it and wrenched it wide open, and there Yasma stood, staring me in the face! She seemed as much overjoyed as was I, and our greeting was such as only sundered lovers can know. Several minutes passed before I could look at her closely. Then, freeing myself from her embrace, I observed that she was unchanged--the same vivid, buoyant creature as always! Her eyes could still dance merrily, her cheeks were still aglow with health; even her clothes were unaltered, for she wore the same crimson and blue garments as when she left, and they appeared hardly the worse for wear. But, even as last year, she noticed a change in me. "You look thinner and more worn, my beloved," she remarked, sadly, as she stood scrutinizing me with tender concern. "You look like one who has been ill. Have you actually been unwell?" I replied that I had not been unwell--why tell her that my one affliction had been her absence? But now that she was back, I was willing to cast aside all bleak remembrances. I was as one awakened from a nightmare; I was so thankful that I could have leapt and shouted like a schoolboy. All that day, I could scarcely trust myself out of sight of her, so fearful was I that I might find her vanished; and she would scarcely trust herself out of sight of me, so delighted was she at having returned. I am afraid that we both behaved a little like children; but if our conduct was a trifle foolish, it was at least very pleasant. Nevertheless, a shadow hovered all the while beside us. Most of the time, it was not visible, but it swung across our path whenever I mentioned Yasma's winter absence or sought to discover where she had been hiding. As always before, she was sphinx-like on this subject; and since I had no desire to ruin our first day's happiness, I was cautious to bring up the matter only casually. Yet I assured myself that I should have no such question to ask next spring.