when at last he overtook her he said as much, and asked for her kind
indulgence.

"I forgive you," she said, laughing. "You and I are not looking at
things from the same point of view; but we have had a splendid morning
together, and I have enjoyed every minute of it. And to-morrow I go on
my way."

"And to-morrow you go," he repeated. "Can it not be the day after
to-morrow?"

"I am a bird of passage," she said, shaking her head. "You must not seek
to detain me. I have taken my rest, and off I go to other climes."


They had arrived at the hotel, and Oswald Everard saw no more of his
companion until the evening, when she came down rather late for _table
d'hote_. She hurried over her dinner and went into the salon. She closed
the door, and sat down to the piano, and lingered there without touching
the keys; once or twice she raised her hands, and then she let them rest
on the notes, and, half unconsciously, they began to move and make sweet
music; and then they drifted into Schumann's "Abendlied," and then the
little girl played some of his "Kinderscenen," and some of his "Fantasie
Stucke," and some of his songs.

Her touch and feeling were exquisite, and her phrasing betrayed the true
musician. The strains of music reached the dining-room, and, one by one,
the guests came creeping in, moved by the music and anxious to see the
musician.