Before Helen answered the question she glanced about her at the morning landscape, and for the first time thought of the fact that it was cold.  “Let us go inside,” she said; “we can sit there and talk until David wakens.”  And the two stole in, Helen opening the door very softly.  David was sleeping in the next room, so that it was possible not to disturb him; the two sat down before the flickering fire and conversed in low whispers.  The girl told him the story of David’s love, and told him all about David, and Arthur in turn told her how he had been living in the meantime; only because he saw how suddenly happy she was, and withal how nervous and overwrought, he said no more of his sufferings.

And Helen had forgotten them utterly; it was pathetic to see her delight as she thought of being freed from the fearful terror that had haunted her,—­she was like a little child in her relief.  “He will be so happy—­he will be so happy!” she whispered again and again.  “We can all be so happy!” The thought that Arthur was actually David’s son was so wonderful that she seemed never to be able to realize it fully, and every time she uttered the thought it was a sweep of the wings of her soul.  Arthur had to tell her many times that it was actually Mary who had been named in that letter.

So an hour or two passed by, and still David did not waken.  Helen had crept to the door once or twice to listen to his quiet breathing; but each time, thinking of his long trial, she had whispered that she could not bear to disturb him yet.  However, she was getting more and more impatient, and she asked Arthur again and again, “Don’t you think I ought to wake him now, don’t you think so—­even if it is just for a minute, you know?  For oh, he will be so glad—­it will be like waking up in heaven!”

So it went on until at last she could keep the secret no longer; she thought for a while, and then whispered, “I know what I will do—­I will play some music and waken him in that way.  That will not alarm him, and it will be beautiful.”

She went to the piano and sat down.  “It will seem queer to be playing music at this hour,” she whispered; but then she glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly seven, and added, “Why, no, we have often begun by this time.  You know, Arthur, we used to get up wonderfully early all summer, because it was so beautiful then, and we used to have music at all sorts of times.  Oh, you cannot dream how happy we were,—­you must wait until you see David, and then you will know why I love him so!”

She stopped and sat thoughtfully for a moment whispering, “What shall I play?” Then she exclaimed, “I know, Arthur; I will play something that he loves very much—­and that you used to love, too—­something that is very soft and low and beautiful.”

Arthur had seated himself beside the piano and was gazing at her; the girl sat still for a moment more, gazing ahead of her and waiting for everything to be hushed.  Then she began, so low as scarcely to be audible, the first movement of the wonderful “Moonlight Sonata.”