[Nurumaiel]

When Araorë saw her husband enter the room, she almost let out a sigh but caught in time, and smiled instead. Her feelings of pleasure at the thought of an evening spent with all in her family was much stronger than her feelings of regret. True, it was rather regretful that when Erinlaer and her father were together they could do nothing but play music. But Araorë had been able to spend some time talking to her daughter and hearing long answers. And that was not an exceedingly common occurrence.

Culhir greeted Heledharm, but briefly, for he was compelled to turn right away to catch Erinlaer, who flung herself into his arms as if she were a little child. "Why, daughter," he said, smiling fondly into her face, "you look fairer than ever."

She silently stepped back, took his hand, and brought him over to sit down. She took up her harp and they smiled at one another. He brought his up, and they began to play. Araorë heard and appreciated the sweet harmonies that they produced, but she knew that they would play on until it was time to bid farewell. She moved over to stand beside Heledharm, and glanced up at his face. His face showed not the slightest sign of regret, but on the contrary was quite radiant as he watched Culhir and his daughter play together. Araorë dropped her eyes again, and gazed thoughtfully at the ground. Then, hesitantly, she spoke, very lowly, so the harpists would not hear her.

"Heledharm," she murmured, "have you found my daughter Erinlaer a good wife to you?"

The happiness in Heledharm's face vanished and was replaced by an expression of deep amazement. "Why, of course!" he stammered, searching Araorë's face in a bewildered fashion. "Why do you think that perhaps I do not? Has anything I have said or done make you think this?"

"Oh, no, not at all," said Araorë. His great puzzlement did not bother her. She did not speak hastily, or apologetically, as if trying to clarify what she had said. Her tone remained very slow and very thoughtful. "But she is not, you know, the most reliable of wives."

He was silent for some time, and then, "You speak of her music."

Araorë nodded. "I do not doubt that you love to hear her play," she said. "When she was still living in our home I found her music a joy and delight. When she was very small she would dance about and sing in such a sweet, childish voice. And as she grew older and her voice grew clearer and her steps more graceful, the beauty of her song thrilled me. And when her father taught her to play the harp, and they would play together... well, you know what wonderful music they make! But sometimes I found she paid too much attention to her music. She neglected her other duties. Do you not find that because of her music other things are left undone? Even when she is not playing she is listening to songs in her head and forgets everything else about her. Does that cause her to be an annoyance to you?"

"Not at all," said Heledharm firmly. "She is my pride and joy... and more because of her music than anything else. I have found, if I am to be entirely honest, that she does neglect other things on account of her singing, dancing, and harp-playing. But..." He turned his eyes to his wife, who was playing rapturously, her eyes lifted bright and earnestly to her father's face. "But when I see her playing her music and singing, there is such happiness and peace in her face, and it's impossible for me to care whether she attends her other duties or not."

Araorë sighed. It was relief to know that Heledharm did not find Erinlaer a trial. But, all the same, her lack of responsibility was worrying.