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Updated: May 21, 2025
He sent forth in the dark a fountain a rising, aspiring fountain of golden notes which seemed to reach heaven itself. The night was made radiant by them. He flung them upward like a shower of stars into the sky. We sat and listened, almost holding our breath. Oh! the nightingale! the nightingale! "He knows," Hector MacNairn's low voice said, "that it was not a dream."
"Perhaps that is because I can never forget what Jean told me about my mother lying still upon her bed, and listening to some one calling her." "How did you know?" Mrs. MacNairn's voice was almost a whisper. "I could not tell you that. I never asked myself HOW it was. But I KNEW. We both KNEW. Perhaps" I hesitated "it was because in the Highlands people often believe things like that.
I found myself looking between the flowers for a man's face I could imagine was Hector MacNairn's. I looked up and down and saw none I could believe belonged to him. There were handsome faces and individual ones, but at first I saw no Hector MacNairn. Then, on bending forward a little to glance behind an epergne, I found a face which it surprised and pleased me to see.
And how one's heart moved and lifted when the nightingale broke out again! "If one had seen or heard one little thing, if one's mortal being could catch one glimpse of light in the dark," Mrs. MacNairn's low voice said out of the shadow near me, "The Fear would be gone forever."
There was an intenseness which was almost a note of anguish in Mrs. MacNairn's answer, even though her voice was very low. I involuntarily turned my head to look at her, though of course it was too dark to see her face. I felt somehow as if her hands were wrung together in her lap.
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