“Lover said urgent business called him out of town.  He would go to Precious.  Glory was getting freakish, queer.  Precious never had visions.  She was not notionate.  She just loved him and was content.  So he went to her.  She dimpled at him adoringly, and led him out to her bower of roses, and sat on his knee and stroked his eyes with her pink finger tips, and he kissed the little curl over her left ear and thought she was worth a dozen tempestuous Glories.  But suddenly she caught her breath and leaned forward.  He spoke to her, but she did not hear.  Her face was colorless and her white lips were parted fearfully.  For she saw a lovely, radiant, queenly woman, magnificently gowned, the center of a throng of people, and Lover was beside her, his face flushed with pride, his eyes shining with admiration.  Her fine voice, like music, held every one spellbound.  Precious clasped her tiny hands over her rose-bud ears and shivered.  She shut her eyes hard and opened them and—­what nonsense!  There was no queenly lady, there was no loud, clear, ringing voice.  But her ears were tingling.  She turned to Lover, trembling.

“‘How—­how—­how funny,’ she said.  ’I saw a radiant woman talking, and she fascinated all the world, and you were with her, adoring her.  Her voice was like music, but so loud, too loud; it crashed in my ears, it deafened me.’

“Lover’s brows puckered thoughtfully.  ‘How did she look?’ he asked.

“’Tall and white, with crimson lips, and black hair massed high on her head.  And her voice was just like music.’

“The next morning Precious was ill.  When Lover went to her she clung to him and cried.  ‘The lovely lady,’ she said,’ ’she came when I was alone, and she said I was a beautiful little doll and she would give me music, music, a world full of music.  And her voice was like a bell, and it grew louder and louder, and I thought the world was crashing into the stars, and I screamed and fell on the floor, and when I awoke the music was gone, and—­I was so weak and sick.’

“Lover decided to go back to Glory until Precious got over this silly whim.  But he had no peace.  Glory was constantly tormented by the loving Precious.  And when he returned to Precious, the splendor of Glory’s voice was with her day and night.  He lost his appetite.  He could not sleep.  So he went off into the woods alone, to fish and hunt a while.  But one night as he sat in his tent, he heard a faint, far-off whisper of music,—­Glory’s voice.  It came nearer and nearer, grew louder and louder, until it crashed in his ears like the clamor of worlds banging into stars, as Precious had said.  And then he felt a tender caressing finger on his eyes, and soft warm arms encircled his neck, and soft red lips pressed upon his.  Closer drew the encircling arms, more breathlessly the red lips pressed his.  He struggled for breath, and fought to tear away the dimpled arms.  The music of Glory’s voice rose into unspeakable tumult, the warm pressure of Precious’ arms rendered him powerless.  He fell insensible, and two days later they found him,—­dead.”