CHAPTER II
THE PRINCESS SYLVIA
Katherine did not know whether she was more astonished or relieved at the sudden flight of the man on the stairs. “I suppose I do look pretty wild,” she reflected, “but I didn’t suppose my appearance was enough to make a man run on sight. Well anyhow, he isn’t going to trouble me, and that’s some comfort. Now to find the singer.”
There was an open transom over the door before which Katherine stood and she perceived that the voice came through this. With hand raised to knock on the door panel she paused in admiration. The song that floated through the transom had such a gay swing, such an irresistible lilt, that it set her head awhirl and her blood racing madly through her veins in a wild May dance. It was as though Spring herself, intoxicated with May dew and brimming over with all the joy of all the world, were singing. Like golden drops from a sunlit fountain the gay, glad notes showered down on her:
“Hark, hark, the lark at heaven’s gate sings,
And Phoebus ’gins arise
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flower that lies;
And winking Mary buds begin
To ope their golden eyes,
With everything that pretty been,