It was right here that Bronson's message had broken in, and Derry,
coming back from the telephone, had said, "Sing for me."

Drusilla lighted two red candles on the piano in the alcove. She began
with a medley of patriotic songs. With her voice never soaring above a
repressed note, she managed to give the effect of culminating emotion,
so that when she reached a climax in the Marseillaise, Derry rose,
thrilled, to his feet.

She whirled around and faced him. "They all do that," she said, with a
glowing air Of triumph. "It's when I get them."

"Why did you give the Marseillaise last?"

"It has the tramp in it of marching men--I love it."

"But why not the 'Star Spangled Banner'?"

"That's for sacred moments. I hate to make it common--but I'll sing
it--now--"

Still standing, he listened. Drusilla held her voice to that low note,
but there was the crash of battle in the music that she made, the hush
of dawn, the cry of victory--

"Dear girl, you are a genius."

"No, I am not. But I can feel things--and I can make others feel--"

She rose and went to the window. "There's a new moon," she said, "come