He bent over her, and she felt his hands bearing heavily on her shoulders; his eyes were flashing, insistent, determined: "You must."
"I cannot."
"Come."
She shook her head.
"Kaya—! You have been like my child! I—I love you as my own daughter! Your career, your success is dear to me. I have ventured more than you know on this chance—that you might have it. The town is crowded with strangers. The House will be full. They will hear you and your fame may be made in a night! What is the matter with you, little one?"
"I cannot," said Kaya.
His grasp grew heavier. "If you throw away this chance—listen to me—it may be years before you have another. You are young, and managers are hard to approach; you found that yourself. It is the merest accident of fate that the Schultz should be ill just now, while no other soprano is on hand, and you know the part. You sang it for me, Kaya, that night, and your voice was Brünnhilde's own. Would you be a coward now? Come, and let me cover you with the shield and the helmet; when you feel the spear in your hand the fright will leave you. It is not like you to be afraid, Kaya. Your eyes are like a doe's! Don't be frightened, little one."
She looked at him and tried to speak, but no words came.
"If I yielded to you, Kaya, if I let you be conquered by the stage-terror once, it would be a rock in your path forever. Come with me! My will is strong, stronger than yours, and I swear you shall come! If I have to carry you in my arms to the stage, you shall come; and you will thank me for it afterwards when the terror has passed."
"No—no!" The girl pressed closer against the wall, "Don't, dear Master, take your hands from my shoulders. I cannot!"