If she accepted Mrs. Staines' invitations, she must come out of the shell in which she had sought to hide herself; she must perforce be friendly with these people whom she had been trying to hold at arm's length. What should she do? As she debated the question with herself, a voice from out of the past seemed to sound in her ear—
"Desire to do the will of another rather than your own. Strive to get out of yourself."
That voice decided the matter. She had been looking at the question entirely from her own point of view. Her fears and doubts and misgivings had all circled around herself. It was certainly not her will to do these things; it was the will of others. Therefore she argued that it was her duty to deny herself, and do that which others asked of her.
Later that evening, Juliet astonished her mother by opening the piano and trying with uncertain, stumbling fingers to play some of her old music. It was the first time she had touched the piano since they came to St. Anne's. She had even said it was useless to have one, since she never meant to touch the instrument again. It was only when her mother suggested that Salome would like to find a piano there when she visited them, that Juliet had consented to their bringing one.
Her mother listened now with surprise and pleasure, scarcely daring to say a word, lest she should do more harm than good. Presently Juliet struck a few chords, and then, with her clear, pure voice vibrating with emotion, sang the well-known lines—
"Let thy gold be cast in the furnace,
Thy red gold precious and bright;
Do not fear the hungry fire,
With its caverns of burning light.
And thy gold shall return more precious,
Free from every spot and stain;
For gold must be tried by fire,
As the heart must be tried by pain."
Juliet sang but the one verse ere she swung herself round on the music-stool, saying to her mother with a melancholy smile—
"Well, mother, what do you say? Have I still a voice?"
"Indeed you have—a beautiful one, dear. It seems to me sweeter than ever."
"I never meant to sing again," said Juliet; "I wanted to forget that I had a voice—to put the thought of it away from me as a temptation, a snare, a cause of evil."