I set down my tankard, and waited with my heart in my mouth.
Very clear and pure the voice rose, as fresh as the morning song of birds.

There was youth in it and joy and pride--joy of the fairness of the earth, pride of beauty and race and strength, "_My dear and only love_" it sang, as it had sung before; but then it had been a girl's hope, and now it was a woman's certainty.

At the first note, the past came back to me like yesterday.

I saw the moorland gables in the rain, I heard the swirl of the tempest, I saw the elfin face in the hood which had cheered the traveller on his way.

In that dim light I could not see the singer, but I needed no vision.