The sound had startled the girl-child within the ring of fairy lights. The resolution of her face broke up into fear that rippled quickly into something like the shadow of a smile. Then she stood listening, and, as the echo of the last bell-beat died away, she began to speak. Plain and distinct, her words came to him in the clearest, finest, most charming voice in the world.
"O, good Saint John, now condescend
For to be a maiden's friend.
On your feast a maid stands here
With your weed in breast and hair.
Good Saint John, now to me show
Portents plain of weal or woe.
If I am to die a maid.
Let white flowers be round me spread;
But if I a bride shall be,
Let me now my true love see."
The voice ceased, and then, "Oh!" it said, with an indescribable inflection. Fear, surprise, pride, joy, and something else mingled in it. Then there was silence. She stood like a young fawn at gaze. And her eyes met his. For, as she had spoken her spell, he, in listening, had forgotten caution and had let his face pass the guard of the shining leaves and blossoms. So that now they stood looking at each other across the green sward and the little green lights. Her eyes were wide with wonder, and beautiful with the light of dreams come true. Still as a statue she stood, in her white robe and her golden garland. It was he who moved first. Slowly he drew back, slowly the leaves closed between his face and hers. Yet he could still see her, but she could no longer see him.
And when she could no longer see him the charm broke that had held her moveless. She put her hands to her head, drew a long breath, and called aloud:
"Emmy, Emmy, quick!"
And at that there was a sound of running footsteps, and almost at once two other girls came flying down the hill into the glade and ran to her. She clung to them without words.
