“The word is not made right,” answered the Piper, “I’m thinking ’t is wrong end to, as many things in this world are until we move and look at them from another way.  It’s giving for, that’s all.  When you have put self so wholly aside that you can be sorry for him because he has wronged you, why, then, you have forgiven.”

“I shall never be able to do that,” she returned.  “Why, I should not even try.”

“Ah,” cried the Piper, “I knew that some day I should find what was wrong, but I did not think it would be now.  ’T is because you have not forgiven that you have been sad for so long.  When you have forgiven, you will be free.”

“He never asked,” muttered Evelina.

“No; ’t is very strange, I’m thinking, but those who most need to be forgiven are those who never ask.  ’T is hard, I know, for I cannot yet be sorry for him because he hurt Laddie—­I can only be sorry for Laddie, who was hurt.  But the great truth is there.  When I have grown to where I can be sorry for him as well as for Laddie, why, my grieving will be done.

“The little chap,” mused the Piper, fondly, “he was a faithful comrade.  ’T was a true heart that the brute—­ah, what am I saying!  I’ll not be forgetting how he fared with me in sun and storm, sharing a crust with me, often, as man to man, and not complaining, because we were together.  A woman never loved me but a dog has, and I’m thinking that some day I may have the greater love because I’ve been worthy of the less.

“My mother died when I was born and, because of that, I’ve tried to make the world easier for all women.  I’m not thinking I have wholly failed, yet the great love has not come.  I’ve often thought,” went on Piper Tom, simply, “that if a woman waited for me at night when I went home, with love on her face, and if a woman’s hand might be in mine when the Master tells me that I am no longer needed for the music, ’t would make the leaving very easy, and I should not ask for Heaven.

“I’ve seen, so often, the precious jewel of a woman’s love cast aside by a man who did not know what he had, having blinded himself with tinsel until his true knowledge was lost.  You’ll forgive me for my rambling talk, I’m thinking, for I’m still grieving for the little chap, and I cannot say yet that I have forgiven.”

He rose, slung his flute over his shoulder again, and went slowly toward the gate.  Evelina followed him, to the cypress tree.

“See,” he said, turning, “the shadow of the cypress is long.  ’T is because you have not forgiven.  I’m thinking it may be easier for us to forgive together, since it is the same man.”

“Yes,” returned Evelina, steadily, “the shadow of the cypress is long, and I never shall forgive.”

“Aye,” said the Piper, “we’ll forgive him together—­you and I. I’ll help you, since your hurt is greater than mine.  You have veiled your soul as you have veiled your face, but, through forgiveness, the beauty of the one will shine out again, and, I’m thinking, through love, the other may shine out, too.  You have hidden your face because you are so beautiful; you have hidden your soul because you are so sad.  I called you in the woods, and I call you now.  I shall never cease calling, until you come.”