Yet his gaze quickly turned from the room to her. He knew that she
believed him to be asleep; but it was so pleasant to watch her that he
did not hasten to let her know that he was awake. She was very busy at
the window, with her back to him, and deeply absorbed in something that
she was doing. Moving lightly and swiftly to and fro across the light,
she was working hard, with no more noise than the sunbeams made in
glancing about her slender form. He lay watching her for some time in
dreamy delight, before he saw what it was that she was doing. But
presently he knew that she was making an aeolian harp. The two fragile
bits of vibrant wood to hold the strings were already in place on either
side of the window, just where the upper and lower sash came together.
She was now engaged in carrying the threads of fine silk floss, which
were to form the strings of this simple wind-harp, from one piece of
wood to the other. Back and forth she wove them across the current of
air, moving with swift, noiseless motions of exquisite grace. As the
last fine fibre thus fell into place and was firmly drawn, a soft,
musical sigh breathed through the shadowed room, the very shadow of
music's sweet self.
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