In strong contrast to the surroundings, the solemn chorus of mixed voices were filling the air with "Nearer, my God, to Thee."
"How strange," thought Venna, "God doesn't seem here at all."
"Some street missionaries," Hastings replied seriously. "They certainly get the crowd. They aren't paid for it either." ("like the ministers in the Churches," he added to himself mentally.)
As they neared the little group of workers a very young girl with a violin stepped forward and started to play. She looked upon the small crowd gathered. Her hand trembled. She stopped short with embarrassment.
"O Daddy, see! She's so nervous. She's tried and can't go on!"
The crowd smiled. Some laughed. Before Hastings realized what his daughter had done, Venna stepped forward to the girl's side.
"Won't you let me play?" she asked softly.
Surprised and glad, the girl handed Venna her violin.
Then Hastings saw what seemed to him one of the unrealities Venna had talked of. Was it a dream or the impossible truth? There she stood, his darling, her genius making the violin fairly plead with the mixed crowd.
Suddenly she turned to the group of young workers.