ment of the moment, he had left it. Taking the instrument in his hands, he unconsciously pressed it to his breast, as if it were a friend whom he had not embraced for a long time. With a dreamy fondness he began to run his hand along its strings and listen to the sweet sounds as they rose and fell in the vaulted room. Soon the single tones, under the trained fingers, joined into soft chords, and the song, sweet and sad, flowed forth like a gentle stream.
The harper, dreaming over his beloved instrument, would probably have thus accompanied the surging of the river and his own thoughts, which he found so closely related, through the whole night, had not footsteps in the hall aroused him. Before he had turned to the door it opened wide, and suddenly the form of a man appeared. Wildly glancing about the room, the man fell at the harper’s feet and said excitedly:
“What does your song proclaim to-night, dear father? Oh! blessings on you if you are calling me from the sufferings of this world!”
