To think that the warmth and softness of the night, the sweet caressing night, the light and beauty of the moon and the stillness and slumber of the town, could betray an old fellow into forgotten dreams like these! He had taken out of his pocket the big key of the clamped door to his house, and was crossing the shadowed lane in front of it, when suddenly he thought he heard music coating in the air above him.

He stopped and listened.

Then he had no longer any doubt.

It was music, it was singing; he knew the song, and he knew the voice.

The song was the song he had been thinking of, and the voice was the voice of Ruth.
O where is Love?
Where, where is Love?
Is it of heavenly birth?
Is it a thing of earth?
Where, where is Love?
Israel felt himself rooted to the spot, and he stood some time without stirring.