But he had no peace. Glory was constantly tormented by the
loving Precious. And when he returned to Precious, the splendor of
Glory's voice was with her day and night. He lost his appetite. He
could not sleep. So he went off into the woods alone, to fish and hunt
a while. But one night as he sat in his tent, he heard a faint,
far-off whisper of music,--Glory's voice. It came nearer and nearer,
grew louder and louder, until it crashed in his ears like the clamor of
worlds banging into stars, as Precious had said. And then he felt a
tender caressing finger on his eyes, and soft warm arms encircled his
neck, and soft red lips pressed upon his. Closer drew the encircling
arms, more breathlessly the red lips pressed his. He struggled for
breath, and fought to tear away the dimpled arms. The music of Glory's
voice rose into unspeakable tumult, the warm pressure of Precious' arms
rendered him powerless. He fell insensible, and two days later they
found him,--dead."
There was a brief eloquent silence when Nevius finished his story. The
girls shivered.
"A true story?" queried David, smiling.
"A true story," said Nevius decidedly.
"Um-hum. Lover was alone in the woods, wasn't he? How did his friends
find out about those midnight spirits that came and killed him?"
The girls brightened.
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