See, dear love.
Look at my face and see how brave I am." Her voice, now calm, had in
it some power that touched him deeply. It was the great, new love
between men and women---forerunner of the mighty revolution.
He stood silent, looking down at her. The song of a nightingale rang
in the great halls. He turned and brought a lyre that lay on a table
near them. She took it in her hands. Then it seemed as if her sorrow
fell upon the strings, and in their music was the voice of her soul.
He bowed before her, whispering a prayer; he put all his soul into one
long look and quickly went away.
Then she rose and ran to the end of the banquet-hall. "I can hear his
voice," she whispered. "No, I must not go--I must not go."
A moment followed in which there came to her a sound of distant voices.
She stilled her sobs and listened. She ran towards the loved voice and
checked her eager feet.
She stood a moment with arms extended. The sound grew fainter and a
hush fell. She ran to the white statue of the little god Eros, and,
kneeling, threw her arms around the shapely form and wept bitterly.
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