the death, and then as if to solve the secret his fingers closed idly round the bow and he swept it gently across the strings. But only as though he coaxed and stroked ‘them lest they should utter their words of death anew, only just as Krista had done that night when stepping to the window and gazing at the evening star, she had sung half whispering, half aloud “The orphaned child.”
And Venik too stepped to that open window and looked toward the heaven, looked well nigh in the same direction as did Krista ere death had robbed her of the light for ever. And his strings sighed out in whispers “The orphaned child.” Did Krista listen as she used to listen in the old days? He turned to look at her once more and she smiled as smoothly as before and seemed to say, “I know all, but what of that.” She took all his questionings and all his musings so lightly that his questions died away upon his lips.
Then he stroked her hair just as in the old days he had stroked it by the streamlet under the willows when the cuckoo cuckooed to them, and Krista smiled placidly even at this and seemed to say “How soft your hand is.” And he kissed her eyeballs but now no salt tears oozed from under the heavy eyelids, and he kissed her on the mouth but now alas! it chilled all kissing that fell upon it. And do what he would Krista repulsed him not, at everything she only smiled, to everything she made
