In the second gift, I brought you the purity, and the flavor of the
mountains."
"And to-day"--she finished simply--"to-day I have brought you the beauty
of the hills."
"You have brought me more than the strength and purity and beauty of the
mountains," exclaimed the painter. "You have brought me their mystery."
She looked at him questioningly.
"In your own beautiful self," he continued sincerely "you have brought me
the mystery of these hills. You are wonderful! I have never known any one
like you."
She was wholly unconscious of the compliment--if indeed, he meant it as
such. "I suppose I must be different," she returned with just a touch, of
sadness in her voice. "You see I have never been taught like other girls.
I know nothing at all of the world where you live--except what Myra has
told me." Then, as if to change the subject, she asked shyly, "Would you
care for my music to-day?"
He assented eagerly--thinking she meant to sing. But, rising, she crossed
the glade, and disappeared behind the willows--returning, a moment later,
with her violin.
In answer to his exclamation of pleased surprise, she said smiling, "I
brought my violin because I thought, if you would let me play, the music
would perhaps help us both to forget what--what happened when I danced.
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