“He’s told them what was right according to his own thinking, which I’m far from saying isn’t true for him, and never minded anything more.  In spite of blood and tears and agony, he’s always held up the one standard, and, I’m thinking, has always pointed to the hardest way to reach it.  The way has been so hard that many have never reached it at all, and those who have—­I’ve not seen that they are the happiest or the kindest, nor that they are loved the most.

“In the same place, too, there is always a doctor, whose business it is to watch over the body.  If you have a broken leg or a broken arm, or a fever, he can set you right again.  Blind eyes can be made to see, and deaf ears made to hear, but, Lady, who is there to care about a broken heart?

“I have taken in my pedler’s pack the things that women need, because ’t is women, mostly, who bear the heartaches of the world, and I come closer to them so.  What you say I have done for you, I have done for many more.  I’m trying to make the world a bit easier for all women because a woman gave me life.  And because I love another woman in another way,” he added, his voice breaking, “I’ll be trudging on to-morrow alone, though ’t would be easier, I’m thinking, to linger here.”

Evelina’s heart leaped with a throb of the old pain.  “Tell me about her,” she said, because it seemed the only thing to say.

“The woman I love,” answered the Piper, “is not for me.  She’d never be thinking of stooping to such as I, and I’d not be insulting her by asking.  She’s very proud, but she could be tender if she chose, and she’s the bravest soul I ever knew—­so brave that she fears neither death nor life, though life itself has not been kind.

“Her little feet have been set upon the rough pathways, almost since the beginning, and her hands catch at my heart-strings, they are so frail.  They’re fluttering always like frightened birds, and the fluttering is in her voice, too.”

“And her face?”

“Ah, but I’ve dreamed of her face!  I’ve thought it was noble beyond all words, with eyes like the first deep violets of Spring, but filled with compassion for all the world.  So brave, so true, so tender it might be that I’m thinking if I could see it once, with love on it for me, that I’d never be asking more.”

“Why haven’t you seen her face?” asked Evelina, idly, to relieve an awkward pause.  “Is she only a dream-woman?”

“Nay, she’s not a dream-woman.  She lives and breathes as dreams never do, but she hides her face because she is so beautiful.  She veils her face from me as once she veiled her soul.”

Then, at last, Evelina understood.  She felt the hot blood mantling her face, and was thankful, once more, for the shelter of her chiffon.

“Spinner in the Sun,” said the Piper, with suppressed tenderness, “were you thinking I could see you more than once or twice and not be caring?  Were you thinking I could have the inmost soul of me torn because you’d been hurt, and never be knowing what lay beyond it, for me?  Were you thinking I could be talking to you day after day, without having the longing to talk with you always?  And now that I’ve done my best for you, and given you all that rests with me for giving, do you see why I’ll be trudging on to-morrow, alone?