“Elodia, you have never sung for our friend,” said Severnius.
She shook her head, and letting her eyes rest upon me half-unconsciously—almost as if I were not there in fact, for she had a peculiar way of looking at you without actually seeing you,—she went on picking out the air she had started to play. I subjoined a beseeching look to her brother’s suggestive remark, but was not sure she noted it. But presently she began to sing and I dropped into a chair and sat spell-bound. Her voice was sweet, with a quality that stirred unwonted feelings; but it was not that alone. As she stood there in the majesty of her gracious womanhood, her exquisite figure showing at its best, her eyes uplifted and a something that meant power radiating from her whole being, I felt that, do what she might, she was still the grandest creature in that world to me!
Soon after she had finished her song, while I was still in the thrall of it, a servant entered the room with a packet for Severnius, who opened and read it with evident surprise and delight.
“Elodia!” he cried, “those friends of mine, those Caskians from Lunismar, are coming to make us a visit.”
“Indeed!” she answered, without much enthusiasm, and Severnius turned to me.
“It is on your account, my friend, that I am to be indebted to them for this great pleasure,” he explained.
“On my account?” said I.
“Yes, they have heard about you, and are extremely anxious to make your acquaintance?”
“They must be,” said Elodia, “to care to travel a thousand miles or so in order to do it.”
“Who are they, pray?” I asked.