you said you would.'

He approached me, and bent his head towards mine, and I glanced up
through a mist and saw his eyes and the short, curly auburn locks on
his forehead.

'The most beautiful things, and the most vital things, and the most
lasting things,' he said softly, 'are often mysterious and inexplicable
and sudden. And let me tell you that you do not know how lovely you are.
You do not know the magic of your voice, nor the grace of your gestures.
But time and man will teach you. What shall I play?'

He was very close to me.

'Bach,' I ejaculated, pointing impatiently to the piano.

I fancied that Bach would spread peace abroad in my soul.

He resumed his place at the piano, and touched the keys.

'Another thing that makes me more sure that I am not deceiving myself
to-night,' he said, taking his fingers off the keys, but staring at the
keyboard, 'is that you have not regretted coming here. You have not
called yourself a wicked woman. You have not even accused me of taking
advantage of your innocence.'

And ere I could say a word he had begun the Chromatic Fantasia,
smiling faintly.

And I had hoped for peace from Bach! I had often suspected that deep