kept running through his head in
spite of his determination to be serious. He had been living the life of
a hermit for months, and had almost forgotten the sound of an educated
woman's voice. To him Annetta was nothing more than a rather pretty wild
animal. It did not enter his head that she might be in love with him.
Sora Nanna was simply an older and uglier animal of the same species. To
a man of Dalrymple's temperament, and really devoted to the pursuit of a
serious object, a woman quite incapable of even understanding what that
object is can hardly seem to be a woman at all.

But the young Scotchman was not wanting in that passionate and fantastic
imagination which so often underlies and even directs the hardy northern
nature, and the young girl's carelessly spoken words had roused it to
sudden activity. In spite of himself, he was already forming plans for
listening under the convent wall, if perchance he might catch the sound
of the nun's wonderful voice, and from that to the wildest schemes for
catching a momentary glimpse of the singer was only a step. At the same
time, he was quite aware that such schemes were dangerous if not
impracticable, and his reasonable self laughed down his unreasoning
romance, only to be confronted by it again as soon as he tried to turn
his attention to his book.

He looked up and saw that he had not finished his wine, though at that
hour the measure was usually empty, and he wondered why he was less
thirsty than usual. By force of habit he emptied the full glass and
poured more into it,--by force of that old northern habit of drinking a
certain allowance as a sort of duty, more common in those days than it
is now. Then he began to read again, never dreaming that his strong head
and solid nerves could be in any way affected by his potations. But his
imagination this evening worked faster and faster, and his sober reason
was recalcitrant and abhorred work.

The nun had fair hair and dark eyes and a beautiful face. Those were
much more interesting facts than he could find in his work. She had a
wonderful voice. He tried to recall all the extraordinary voices he had
heard in his life, but none of them had ever affected him very much,
though he had a good ear and some taste for music. He wondered what sort
of voice this could be, and he longed to hear it. He shut up his book
impatiently, drank more wine, rose and went to the open door. The gusty
south wind fanned his face pleasantly, an