breathe through it. My heart beat; every nerve thrilled; every sense
answered to these sweet, soft words.

It ceased then, and Coralie came over to the bay-window. She sat down
upon the Turkish curtains, and looked with longing eyes at the light on
the trees and flowers. There was a softened expression on her face, a
flush as of awakened emotion, a new and brighter light in those dark,
dangerous eyes. The white fingers trembled, the white bosom heaved as
though she had felt deeply the words she had been singing.

Then it was said she would rather be mistress of Crown Anstey than Queen
of Great Britain.

I laughed, not knowing what to say.

"Crown Anstey ought to thank you very much," I said. "You pay it a great
compliment."

"My heart is here," she continued, those dreamy eyes still fixed upon
mine. "I think if any one were to say to me, 'You must leave Crown
Anstey,' I should die."

All the music on earth seemed embodied in those few words.

"I should die," she repeated, "just as a flower dies when it is torn
from the soil it has taken deep root."

"Why do you speak of such things?" I asked. "No one thinks of your
going; this is your home."