The music lessons continued, and Arditi forgot the time in his devotion to his new pupil.
"She is a genius!" he said, ecstatically; "the only one that I have discovered in years. She sings because she can't help it. She is like a bird in the forest, except that there is a note of sadness which the bird never acquires, because it has no soul. Some day she will show the world what an artiste is!"
And the full rich tones were floating out one day, glorious as the minor strains of an organ, when suddenly the tone failed, the hands fell upon the key-board with a crash, the lovely face, flushed with devotion to its new master, whitened, and a little cry fell from the drawn lips.
She did not speak—it seemed as if she could not—and after a moment of silence the man who had caused her alarm went forward and put out his hand.
She hesitated a moment, half drew back, then, impelled by some strange power, placed her cold palm in his.
"I am afraid I startled you," he said, in that beautiful voice with which no male voice that she had ever heard could remotely compare. "I asked for Jessica and Mrs. Chalmers, but the servant said they were in the park; then I heard you singing, and begged to be allowed to come here. I see you have taken lessons of Arditi, as I asked you. It was very good of you."
"How—how do you know that I have?" she stammered.
"Ah, who knows the method so well as I? There is not another teacher in America that could do it, and you have put your whole heart and soul into it. God! what a voice it is!"
She threw out her hands deprecatingly.
"What matters it?" she cried, huskily, breathlessly. "Tell me, when did you come? And where is he—Olney? Why does he allow you to come first?"