"
"Together ye have wrought an eloquent harmony, but such a voice as
thine would gild the pale effort of the poorest words," she said
earnestly. "What dost thou with thy voice?"
"Once I won me a pretty compliment with it," he said softly, bending
his head to look at her. She flushed and her eyes fell.
"Nay, it is but my pastime and at the command of my friends," he
continued. "See. This is what has made me sing."
He unslung his wallet and took out of it a statuette of creamy chalk.
"Thus far has the Athor of the hills progressed." He put it into her
hands for examination. The face was complete, the minute features as
perfect as life, the plaits of long hair and all the figure exquisitely
copied and shaped. The pedestal was yet in rough block. Rachel
inspected it, wondering. Finally she looked up at him with praise in
her eyes.
"Dost thou forgive me?" he asked.
"It is for me to ask thy forgiveness," she answered. "So we be equally
indebted and therefore not in debt."
"Not so. I know the joy of creating uncramped, and the joy of copying
such a model far outweighs any small delight thy little vanity may have
experienced. Thy vanity? Hast thou any vanity?"
"Nay, I trust not," she replied laughingly.
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