Thomas Illey listened politely. Anne noticed that he glanced towards the mantelpiece, at the clock under the glass globe. Frightened, she followed his look. She had never yet seen the hand run so mischievously fast. And she now had a foreboding of what the hours were to be to her when she was without him.
She must say something to Illey before he went, something that would bring him back again. She did not know that she got up, she did not know that she went to the piano.
“Yes, sing something,” said Martha.
“Do sing!” cried Christopher, delighted to interrupt his father.
Anne glanced shyly at Illey. He looked imploringly. Their eyes met. They were far from each other and yet the girl felt that she was nearest to him and was going to say something to him, to him alone. She did not know what. But under her hand Schubert’s music was already rising from the piano.
“Greetings to thee, greetings to thee....”
Blood rose in a pale pink cloud to Anne’s temples. Her face became radiantly beautiful, her pure youthful bosom rose and fell like a pair of snowy, beating wings and her voice sounded clearly, rapturously, like a deep, all-powerful passion. It expressed tears, triumphant youth, the unconscious, glorious avowal of all her love.
Christopher looked at her in amazement. He had never heard his sober, serious sister sing like that. All looked at Anne. Not one of them understood what had happened, yet they felt a strange warm light thrill through them.
“How beautiful she looks when she is singing!” thought Thomas Illey.
People do not see each other always, only now and then for a moment. Thomas Illey saw Anne in this moment. He turned a little pale and felt as if a hot caressing hand fanned the air near his face. He lost control over his eyes and passionately they took possession of the girl.