“I do not so much care for the printed music,” he went on, after an interval, “unless it might be the great, beautiful music which takes so many to play.  I have often thought of it and wondered what might happen if the players were not willing to follow the master—­if one should play a tune where no tune was written, and he who has the violin should insist on playing the flute.

“I would not want the violin, for I think the flute is best of all.  It is made from the trees on the mountains and the silver hidden within, and so is best fitted for the message of the mountains—­the great, high music.

“I’m thinking that the life we live is not unlike the players.  We have each our own instrument, but we are not content to follow as the Master leads.  We do not like the low, long notes that mean sadness; we will not take what is meant for us, but insist on the dancing tunes and the light music of pleasure.  It is this that makes the discord and all the confusion.  The Master knows his meaning and could we each play our part well, at the right time, there would be nothing wrong in all the world.”

Miss Evelina sighed, deeply, and the Piper put his hand on hers.

“I’m not meaning to reproach you,” he said, kindly, “though, truly, I do think you have played wrong.  In any music I have heard, there has never been any one instrument that has played all the time and sadly.  When there is sadness, there is always rest, and you have had no rest.”

“No,” said Evelina, her voice breaking, “I have had no rest—­God knows that!”

“Then do you not see,” asked the Piper very gently, “that you cannot help but make the music wrong?  The Master gives you one deep note to play, and you hold it, always the same note, till the music is at an end.

“’T is something wrong, I’m thinking, that has made you hold it so.  I’m not asking you to tell me, but I think that one day I shall see.  Together we shall find what makes the music wrong, and together we shall make it right again.”

“Together,” repeated Evelina, unconsciously.  Once the word had been sweet to her, but now it brought only bitterness.

“Aye, together.  ’T is for that I stayed.  Laddie and I were going on, that very day we saw you in the wood—­the day I called you, and you came.  I shall see, some day, what has made it wrong—­yes.  Spinner in the Shadow, I shall see.  I’m grieving now for Laddie and my heart is sore, but when I have forgiven him, I shall be at rest.”

“Forgiven who?” queried Evelina.

“Why, the man who hurt Laddie—­the same, I’m thinking, who hurt you.  But your hurt was worse than Laddie’s, I take it, and so ’t is harder to forgive.”

Evelina’s heart beat hard.  Never before had she thought of forgiving Anthony Dexter.  She put it aside quickly as altogether impossible.  Moreover, he had not asked.

“What is it to forgive?” she questioned, curiously.