So rapid and bewildering was the motion of these two great powers--the
river and the sky--that the imagination could not believe in silence.
It was as though the earth were full of shoutings and of tumults. And
yet in reality the night was as still as a tropical evening. The
wolves and the sledge-dogs answered each other undisturbed; the
beautiful songs of the white-throats stole from the forest as
divinely instinct as ever with the spirit of peace.

Virginia leaned against the railing and looked upon it all. Her heart
was big with emotions, many of which she could not name; her eyes were
full of tears. Something had changed in her since yesterday, but she
did not know what it was. The faint wise stars, the pale moon just
sinking, the gentle south breeze could have told her, for they are
old, old in the world's affairs. Occasionally a flash more than
ordinarily brilliant would glint one of the bronze guns beneath the
flag-staff. Then Virginia's heart would glint too. She imagined the
reflection startled her.

She stretched her arms out to the night, embracing its glories,
sighing in sympathy with its meaning, which she did not know. She
felt the desire of restlessness; yet she could not bear to go. But no
thought of the stranger touched her, for you see as yet she did not
understand.

Then, quite naturally, she heard his voice in the darkness close to
her knee. It seemed inevitable that he should be there; part of the
restless, glorious night, part of her mood. She gave no start of
surprise, but half closed her eyes and leaned her fair head against a
pillar of the veranda. He sang in a sweet undertone an old _chanson_
of voyage.