How romantic it all was! A free-born maiden--he was
certain she was reared in some old castle--wandering about earning money
for her musical education. What a picture for a painter! What a story
for a novelist! They were interrupted. The dancer, a young man with a
heavy shock of hair growing low on his forehead, under which twinkled
beady black eyes, had been sent to tell Fraeulein Roeselein that her
colleagues were waiting for her. With a courtesy she went away. Krayne
now thoroughly hated the dancer.
It was long after eleven when the concert was over and the party started
on its homeward trip. Krayne and Roeselein walked behind the others, and
soon the darkness and the narrowness of the road forced him to tread
after the girl. The moon's rays at intervals pierced the foliage,
making lacelike patches of light in the gloom. At times they skirted the
edges of a circular clearing and saw the high pines fringing the
southern horizon; overhead the heavens were almost black, except where
great streams of stars swept in irregular bands. It was a glorious
sight, Krayne told Roeselein--too sublime to be distracted by mere mortal
love-making, he mentally added.
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