There was a murmur of voices, a strumming on the piano, a passing of shadows to and fro; and then from the doorway there came gay and spritely music--and at last a song that he knew. Denver listened intently, trying to remember the record which had contained this lilting air. He had it--the "Barcarolle," the boat-song from the "Tales of Hoffmann!" And she was singing the words in English. He left the shadow and stepped out into the open, forgetful of everything but the singer, and the words came out to him clearly.
"Night divine, O night of love, O smile on our enchantment; Moon and stars keep watch above This radiant night of love!"
She came to the end, riding up and down in an ecstatic series of "Ahs!" and as the song floated away into piano and pianissimo Denver braved the light to see her.
She was standing by the piano, swaying like a flower to the music; and a lamp behind made her face like a cameo, her hair like a mass of gold. That was all he saw in the swift, stolen moment before he retreated in a panic to his cave. It was she, the beautiful woman that the seeress had predicted, the one he should fall in love with! She had won his heart before he even saw her, but how could he hope to win her? She was a singer, an artist as Mother Trigedgo had said, and he was a hobo miner. He stood by his cavern looking down on the town and up at the moon and stars and the words of her song came back to his ears in a continual, haunting refrain.
"Ah! smile on our enchantment, Night of Love, O night of love! Ah, Ah! Ah, Ah! Ah, Ah! Ah, Ah!"
It floated away in a lilting diminuendo, a joyous, mocking refrain; and long after the night was quiet again the music still ran through his head. It possessed him, it broke his sleep, it followed him in dreams; and with it all went the vision of the singer, surrounded like St. Cecilia with a golden halo of light. He woke up at dawn with a fire in his brain, a tumult of unrest in his breast; and like a buck when he feels the first sting of a wound he turned his face towards the heights. The valley seemed to oppress him, to cabin him in; but up on the cliffs where the eagles soared there was space and the breath of free winds. He toiled up tirelessly, a fierce energy in his limbs, a mill-race of thoughts in his mind, and at last on the summit he turned and looked down on the house that sheltered his beloved.