ed
her "imperial purple voice."

First Russian folk music came to her. She, too, was isolated on the
_steppe_ of her own nature. The desolate words went voluming out upon
the night, in that hushed, dusky gold of the great contralto:

"Lord, hear us!... Lord God, hear us!
We are in bondage:
Like the Volga, in its chains of ice,
We are bound in the bitter ice of sorrow.
Be to us as the springtide that melts the ice,
Arise! Shine! For we sit in darkness
And in the shadow of death.
Lord, hear us! Lord God, hear us!"

She looked up as she ended, to see Amaldi standing in one of the open
windows.

"May I come in?" he said. "I shan't be disturbing you?"

She smiled, holding out her hand.

"No. Do come in, Amaldi. You're just the one person who won't disturb
me. I'm music-thirsty to-night. Now you shall play for me."

"But not until you've sung more--please," he said quickly.

"Very well. I'll sing to you, then you'll play for me. It seems strange
that I've never heard you play. But there were always so many people
about. I can't enjoy music--really, in a crowd."

She sang on for half an hour, first more Russian music, then old
Italian. He sat where he could see her face but did not seem to look at
her. Glancing at him now and then, she knew that the immobility of his
dark profile meant intense feeling, not any lack of it. When she would
have stopped at last, he begged for one more song. "Something very
simple--that you especially care for," he urged.

She thought a moment. Then she said:

"If I can remember the music I'll sing you a Scotch song called
_Ettrick_. I loved it so that I made the music for it myself. But it's
been a long, long time since I've sung it----"

Her hands wandered among the keys, gathering a harmony here, a note or
two of the melody. It was as if she were gathering flowers of sound with
her slow, caressing fingers. She found the right opening chords at last,
ventured them softly, then struck full. It was a royal burst of
sound--those chords and her violet voice together: out leaped the glad
exultant words:

"When we first rade down Ettrick,
Our bridles were ringing, our hearts were dancing,
The waters were singing, the sun was glancing.
An' blithely our voices rang out thegither,
As we brushed the dew frae the blooming heather,
When we first rade down Ettrick."

She paused, drew in a deep breath like sighing. The next chords fell sad
and heav