"I am not—I am laughing, dear Master. Look at me! There is the mill across the promenade. How gaunt the wheel looks, and strange, with its spokes dripping, and the rain lashing down! And there is a light in my window—a candle, see? Old Marta is waiting, and how she will scold. Tell me, Master—dear Master, before we get there, tell me—some day may I act Brünnhilde and sing, when the curtain is up, and the House is full, and Siegfried is there, and you at the baton—and the orchestra playing? Tell me!"
She drew closer to him, and the last words came out in a whisper, breathless and eager. "Put those other thoughts out of your mind, dear Kapellmeister. Ve—Velasco is only a name—nothing more!
"If I can sing I will be happy; I promise you. The sting of the curse will—pass. You are silent and cold!" she cried, "You won't tell me, and we are almost there—at the mill! Master!"
The Kapellmeister started: "The mill?" he stammered, "What were you saying, Kaya? How cold your hand is, little one! Of course you shall sing. You shall be our great Brünnhilde and the visitors will flock to Ehrestadt, and you will be famous and beloved."
He hesitated: "I can't see you, only your eyes gleaming, Kaya. How bright they are, little one, like live coals! Where did you get that name—'Master'? Did Marta teach you? My pupils say that, the chorus, the orchestra, and the singers; but you never used it before. It is because I am old now and my hair is grey, and you are a child. I must seem to you like your father, Kaya."
"No," said the girl quickly, "not my father! He was hard and cruel; he was a friend of the Tsar. I—I never loved him."
"Nor me," cried the Kapellmeister hoarsely, "Nor me!"
The words sprang to his lips in spite of himself; they were low, and he thought she did not hear; but her ear was keen. She bent forward taking his hand, and kissed it swiftly, holding it between her own.
"Dear Kapellmeister! Dear Master!" she cried, half laughing, half with a sob: "You know I love you. When I was ill and alone, and desperate, and helpless, longing to die, you came to me. You saved me and helped me; and I was nothing to you but a stranger. You were father and mother to me; and now, you are my master, and teacher, and friend." She lifted his hand again to her lips and caressed it: "I love you," she cried, "dear Master, I love you with all my heart!"
Ritter stirred against the cushions; his hand lay limp in her clasp. "Yes, little one," he said, "Yes. Your heart is like your voice, fathomless and pure. The carriage has stopped now, and there is the candle, burning up yonder under the eaves. Can you find your way alone, without help? I am strangely weary."