It was a marvelous welcome, a splendor of spiritual hospitality.

The musician took up straightway the purpose of his visit and stated it.

"Will you, then, send him to-morrow and let me try his voice?"

"Yes," she said as one who now must direct with firm responsible hand
the helm of wayward genius, "I will send him."

"And if his voice should prove to be what is wanted," continued the
music-master, though with delicate hesitancy, "would he be--free? Is
there any other person whose consent--"

She could not reply at once. The question brought up so much of the
past, such tragedy! She spoke with composure at last:

"He can come. He is free. He is mine--wholly mine."

The choir-master looked across the small room at his pupil, who, upon
the discovery of the visitor's identity, had withdrawn as far as
possible from him.

"And you are willing to come?" he asked, wishing to make the first
advance toward possible acquaintanceship on the new footing.

No reply came. The mother smiled at her awe-stricken son and hastened to
his rescue.

"He is overwhelmed," she said, her own faith in him being merely
strengthened by this revelation of his fright. "He is overwhelmed. This