And the harper suddenly straightening himself before the window, looked up with a questioning and reproachful eye, as if he wanted to penetrate the depths of heaven and see what they concealed. In that movement he touched an object near by which gave out a sound something like a human sigh. He looked around. An ancient lute, with broken strings, hung in the window by his side. Thinking of the warning of the old stewardess, he anxiously reached for it, but quickly dropped his hand.
“Art thou the lute on which the Hlohov lady plays her death songs? But whether thou art or not, thou needst not fear me; I will not disturb thy repose. Thou shalt remain hanging by that faded cord as thou wast placed by a hand of which I know nothing more than that it has been mouldering perhaps a century. I will only give thee a companion. My own harp I will hang by thy side.”
And the young man walked toward the door for his harp, where, under the excite-
