It was very bitter, for Unorna was proud with the scarcely reasoning pride of a lawless, highly gifted nature, accustomed to be obeyed and little used to bending under any influence.  She brought all the skill she could command to her assistance; she talked to him, she told him of herself, she sought his confidence, she consulted him on every matter, she attempted to fascinate his imagination with tales of a life which even he could never have seen; she even sang to him old songs and snatches of wonderful melodies which, in her childhood, had still survived the advancing wave of silence that has overwhelmed the Bohemian people within the memory of living man, bringing a change into the daily life and temperament of a whole nation which is perhaps unparalleled in any history.  He listened, he smiled, he showed a faint pleasure and a great understanding in all these things, and he came back day after day to talk and listen again.  But that was all.  She felt that she could amuse him without charming him.

And Unorna suffered terribly.  Her cheek grew thinner and her eyes gleamed with sudden fires.  She was restless, and her beautiful hands, from seeming to be carved in white marble, began to look as though they were chiselled out of delicate transparent alabaster.  She slept little and thought much, and if she did not shed tears, it was because she was too strong to weep for pain and too proud to weep from anger and disappointment.  And yet her resolution remained firm, for it was part and parcel of her inmost self, and was guarded by pride on the one hand and an unalterable belief in fate on the other.

To-day they sat together, as they had so often sat, among the flowers and the trees in the vast conservatory, she in her tall, carved chair and he upon a lower seat before her.  They had been silent for some minutes.  It was not yet noon, but it might have been early morning in a southern island, so soft was the light, so freshly scented the air, so peaceful the tinkle of the tiny fountain.  Unorna’s expression was sad, as she gazed in silence at the man she loved.  There was something gone from his face, she thought, since she had first seen him, and it was to bring that something back that she would give her life and her soul if she could.

Suddenly her lips moved and a sad melody trembled in the air.  Unorna sang, almost as though singing to herself.  The Wanderer’s deep eyes met hers and he listened.

     “When in life’s heaviest hour
     Grief crowds upon the heart
     One wondrous prayer
     My memory repeats.

     “The harmony of the living words
     Is full of strength to heal,
     There breathes in them a holy charm
     Past understanding.

     “Then, as a burden from my soul,
     Doubt rolls away,
     And I believe—­believe in tears,
     And all is light—­so light!”

She ceased, and his eyes were still upon her, calm, thoughtful, dispassionate.  The colour began to rise in her cheek.  She looked down and tapped upon the carved arm of the chair with an impatient gesture familiar to her.