68 



RECREATIOX. 



was something eerie in the music that 

 warned them of impending disaster, a cry 

 of reproach and madness; he seemed to be 

 waiting with Siegfried. 



As the bird, high in the woodland trees, 

 called out its wild note of greeting, pierc- 

 ing, high and clear, he felt a thrill of com- 

 ing doom. 



Looking at Amy for reassurance he was 

 chilled by a mysterious change in her face. 

 It seemed to have lost that tender girlish- 

 ness which he had reverenced; it was hard 

 and indifferent, and her eyes had the keen 

 brightness of a knife; her hand in his was 

 cold and thin. Even when the light came 

 back and the music brightened, he could 

 not quite shake off the fancy that had 

 touched him, a vague distrust. He looked 

 down over the crowded house, on the 

 throng of women listening eagerly, indif- 

 ferently, happily, wearily, to the rolling 

 sea of music. They seemed to have sud- 

 denly become hateful to him. Their beauty 

 had a terror. There was a quivering rest- 

 lessness, a restrained eagerness, almost as 

 of a hunter sighting his prey. The feathers 

 and soft plumes in their hair, the birds 

 crushed in deft mockery of life against the 

 cold white foreheads of girls, had an ironi- 

 cal effect on his excited nerves; the hum 

 of their voices in the interlude smote his 

 ear harshly. He turned to the stage. He 

 would not heed the absurd fancies of his 

 excited brain; he had been in the woods 

 too long. 



As he waited the music paled like dawn 

 before the sun, and over the gulf the voice 

 of the magic bird caroling wildly from the 

 heights sprang arrow-like. Not with those 

 enchanted words of prophecy and cheer, 

 bidding Siegfried follow and rejoice, but 

 with a terrible wild cry of anguish and 

 despair — a cry that shrilled, lost and for- 

 saken, through the world. 



"Ho, brothers, victims, comrades, a 

 long last greeting I bring from all those 

 who are about to perish. Answer now, for 

 now may you say farewell, farewell for- 

 ever, to forest and woodland, and ocean 

 and meadow, to brothers and offspring. 

 Cry aloud; farewell!" 



At that summons, a wail of sorrow 

 rose, mingled with the flutter and beat- 

 ing of wings. The air was filled with 

 cries, laments, a tumultuous agony of 

 grief. Every other sound was hushed. 

 The human throng, slayers of that helpless 

 multitude, sat as if turned to stone, while 

 the victims, freed for one moment by the 

 magic bird, called to each other, to those 

 who must soon join them, a sorrowful 

 farewell. 



"Woe, woe, the day! Nevermore by the 

 lake, by the mountain, on the marsh, in the 

 wild wood shall we see our brothers. 

 Never again shall we fly with them free 

 through the free air." The cry of the 

 wood pigeon ended in a low sob. 



"I have no brothers; they were all slain 

 before me. I was the last; skinned alive!" 



"And I," echoed the voice of the heron; 

 "I was snatched from the nest, from my 

 young, though I struggled and begged 

 frantically for their sakes. My crest, that 

 now adorns the young girl's head, was 

 torn from me, and my bleeding body was 

 flung where those innocent, starving nest- 

 lings saw my death!" 



"And I, and I," cried the gull and the 

 tern; "though flayed aiive, my sufferings 

 were nothing to the agony of knowing 

 that my young died of starvation." 



"And I was trapped with a thousand 

 others in a garden in the South. It is si- 

 lent now where we used to sing." 



"Alas, alas, the world is sad without us!" 

 cried a bluebird from the hat where he was 

 poised in bitter mockery of his joyous 

 flight. "Lovers stand no more in the lane, 

 hand in hand, looking into each other's 

 eyes with pensive joy when they heard my 

 evening carol." 



"And I, too," sobbed the thrush. "There 

 is no one to tell the violets when the sun 

 has set over the woodland. Ah, I am 

 homesick for the forest here in the city 

 streets, and soon I shall be flung aside to 

 make way for another victim!" 



"Oh. for a breath of the wild, salt sea," 

 screamed the fishhawk. "Nevermore to 

 feel the spray on my glad wings as I dive 

 through the waves!" 



"Nevermore; nevermore; nevermore!" 

 echoed the swallow, and the grebe, and 

 the bobolink— a thousand voices as wings 

 and breast beat helplessly. "Nevermore, 

 nevermore shall we see the lands we loved 

 and glorified with our beauty and guarded 

 from harm. Victims of vanity, we are 

 doomed! doomed! doomed!" 



With the heart-breaking anguish of 

 these cries ringing in his ears Amy's lover 

 turned to her for reassurance. But his 

 hands fell at his sides. The smile on her 

 lips had broadened to the grin of a savage. 

 Her soft hands looked like the claws of 

 some cruel harpy as they picked indiffer- 

 ently at her marabout fan. Had she ever 

 wept at the death of a robin? With a 

 groan of pained and helpless confusion 

 Laurence dashed her hands from him and 

 rushed from the house. Anywhere, to 

 escape the remembrance of that terrible 

 scene. But the shop windows, the streets, 

 the cars, the carriages, were fluttering and 

 echoing with the same cries everywhere. 

 He was surrounded by this slaughter of 

 innocents. 



In a sort of panic he rushed home, put 

 some clothing into a bag, changed his 

 clothes. Then looking around the room 

 with questioning eyes, as if he sought the 

 reason of his madness, his gaze fell on 

 Amy's picture where it hung beside h<s 

 bed. As he laid it in fragments on the 

 table he saw himself in the glass and 



