She spoke not a word--she sang to it a
cradle-song, and the thought came to Paul that she seemed as an angel, and
this must be an echo of his own early heaven before his life had descended
to earth.
A strange peace came over him as he sat there watching her, his thoughts
vague and dreamy of some beautiful sweet tenderness--he knew not what.
Ere the woman returned with the coffee the lady looked up from her
crooning and met his eyes--all her soul was aglow in hers--while she
whispered as he bent over to meet her lips:
"Yes, some day, my sweetheart--yes."
And that magic current of sympathy which was between them made Paul know
what she meant. And the gladness of the gods fell upon him and exalted
him, and his blue eyes swam with tears.
Ah! that was a thought, if that could ever be!
All the way back in the carriage he could only kiss her. Their emotion
seemed too deep for words.
And this night was the most divine of any they had spent on the
Buergenstock. But there was in it an essence about which only the angels
could write.
CHAPTER XIII
Do you know the Belvedere at the Rigi Kaltbad, looking over the corner to
a vast world below, on a fair day in May, when the air is clear as crystal
and the lake ultra-marine? When the Bernese Oberland undulates away in
unbroken snow, its pure whiteness like cold marble, the shadows grey-blue?
Have you seen the tints of the beeches, of the pines, of the firs,
clinging like some cloak of life to the hoary-headed mountains, a reminder
that spring is eternal, and youth must have its day, however grey beards
and white heads may frown?
Ah--it is good!
And so is the air up there.
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