To the murmur of this music, in perhaps this very room, she had been born.

"Why," she asked piteously, "why ?" Of what use was it that she must suffer?
Of all the bad hours of her life, these were the worst.

For the yearning for happiness and love throbbed and cried at her heart, louder and louder, just as the music of the stream swelled to importance with the coming of the night.

And she learned that she had had both love and happiness within her grasp and that she had thrown them away for a shadow.

She thought of the letter which she had written, recalling its phrases with a sinking heart.
"No man could forgive them.