“Dear, dear Nightingale,” he said caressingly, “you are right. She is more lovely than the dawn. I have thought of her all night and all day. Tell me, will she come again tonight? I will wait to see her.”
“Yes, she will come, and you may speak to her, but you must not touch her,” said the Nightingale; and then they were silent and waited.
Underneath the oak-tree lay a large white Stone, a common white Stone, neither beautiful nor useful, for it lay there where it had fallen, and bitterly lamented that it had no object in life. It never spoke to the birds, who scarcely knew it could speak; but sometimes, if the Nightingale lighted upon it, and touched it with his soft breast, or the Moonbeam shone upon it, it felt as if it would break with grief that it should be so stupid and useless. It watched the Sunbeams and Moonbeams come down on their ladders, and wondered that none of the birds but the Nightingale thought the Moonbeam beautiful. That evening, as the Sunbeam sat waiting, the Stone watched it eagerly, and when the Moonbeam placed her tiny ladder among the leaves, and slid down it, it listened to all that was said.
At first the Moonbeam did not speak, for she did not see the Sunbeam, but she came close to the Nightingale, and kissed it as usual.
“Have you seen him again?” she asked. And, on hearing this, the Sunbeam shot out from among the green leaves, and stood before her.
For a few minutes she was silent; then she began to shiver and sob, and drew nearer to the Nightingale, and if the Sunbeam tried to approach her, she climbed up her ladder, and went farther still.
“Do not be frightened, dearest Moonbeam,” cried he piteously; “I would not, indeed, do you any harm, you are so very lovely, and I love you so much.”
The Moonbeam turned away sobbing.
“I do not want you to love me,” she said, “for if you touch me I shall die. It would have been much better for you not to have seen me; and now I cannot go back and be happy in the Moon, for I shall be always thinking of you.”
“Could it have been better not to love, as I love you? I do not care if I die or not, now that I have seen you; and see,” said the Sunbeam sadly, “my end is sure, for the Sun is fast sinking, and I shall not return to it, I shall stay with you.”
“Go, while you have time,” cried the Moonbeam. But even as she spoke the Sun sank beneath the horizon, and the tiny gold ladder of the Sunbeam broke with a snap, and the two sides fell to earth and melted away.
“See,” said the Sunbeam, “I cannot return now, neither do I wish it. I will remain here with you till I die.”
“No, no,” cried the Moonbeam. “Oh, I shall have killed you! What shall I do? And look, there are clouds drifting near the Moon; if one of them floats across my ladder it will break it. But I cannot go and leave you here;” and she leaned across the leaves to where the Sunbeam sat, and looked into his eyes. But the Nightingale saw that a tiny white cloud was sailing close by the Moon—a little cloud no bigger than a spot of white wool, but quite big and strong enough to break the Moonbeam’s little ladder.
“Go, go at once. See! your ladder will break,” he sang to her; but she did not notice him, but sat watching the Sunbeam sadly. For a moment the Moon’s light was obscured, as the tiny cloud sailed past it; then the little silver ladder fell to earth, broken in two and shrunk away; but the Moonbeam did not heed it.
“It does not matter,” she said, “for I should never have gone back and left you here, now that I have seen you.”
So all night long they sat together in the oak-tree, and the Nightingale sang to them, and the other birds grumbled that he kept them awake. But the two were very happy, though the Sunbeam knew he was growing paler every moment, for he could not live twenty-four hours away from the Sun.
When the dawn began to appear, the Moonbeam shivered and trembled.
“The strong Sun,” she said, “would kill me, but I fear something even worse than the Sun. See how heavy the clouds are! Surely it is going to rain, and rain would kill us both at once. Oh, where can we look for shelter before it comes?”
The Sunbeam looked up, and saw that the rain was coming.
“Come,” he said, “let us go;” and they wandered out into the forest, and sought for a sheltering place, but every moment they grew weaker.
When they were gone, the Stone looked up at the Nightingale and said—
“Oh, why did they go? I like to hear them talk, and they are so pretty; they can find no shelter out there, and they will die at once. See! in my side there is a large hole where it is quite dark, and into which no rain can come. Fly after them and tell them to come; that I will shelter them.” So the Nightingale spread his wings, and flew singing—
“Come back, come back! The Stone will shelter you. Come back at once before the rain falls.”
They had wandered out into an open field, but when she heard the Nightingale, the Moonbeam turned her head and said—
“Surely that is the Nightingale singing. See! he is calling us.”
“Follow me,” sang the bird. “Back at once to shelter in the Stone.” But the Moonbeam tottered and fell.
“I am grown so weak and pale,” she said, “I can no longer move.”
Then the Nightingale flew to earth. “Climb upon my back,” he said,
