ister courage. As
they rose to go, Pauline drew money from her pocket, and, bending over
the woman, she said, very gently: "Signora, we have never half thanked
you for your singing. May we do so now?"

The woman's eyes shone, and a pretty colour went up the pale, gaunt
cheek.

"Ah!" she said. "You have listened to my singing, and with pleasure? And
it is truly for my singing that you give me this, and not because you
are sorry for me?"

And Pauline, remembering how often the tired voice, strained to a high,
uncertain pitch, sounding across the water like a cry for succour, had
filled her with compassion, could say with truth; "Signora, your
singing has touched our hearts."

As May stood upon the balcony, gazing far out over the lagoon, her young
eyes undazzled by the intense mid-day light, she thought how sweet it
would be to see again that look of grateful pleasure upon the worn face.
Ah, she would sing! How she would sing! She would sing the heart into
those people in the gondolas; she would sing the money out of their
purses! The gondolas should gather about her till the water was black
with them. She would sing till the night rang with the sound of her
voice! A sense of power had come into her, which she had never felt
before. She should take command of those musicians, she should take
command of that mysterious, floating audience. No one would know her;
she should not know herself. For one splendid hour she should be set
free of herself.

It was the first time in her life that May Beverly had found herself
mastered by an enthusiasm. The consciousness of it suddenly seized her
and tilled her with a curious misgiving. She knelt down upon the floor
of the balcony, and, leaning her forehead against the cushion of the
balustrade, she tried to collect her thoughts, to regain her balance.

She wondered if she were very foolish, if it were a mere outbreak of
shallow vanity that ought to be suppressed. She hoped not. Of course
this thing that she wanted to do was shockingly unconventional. Anywhere
else, under any other circumstances, it would be out of character; but
here in Venice everything was different. She tried to shut out the magic
city from her thoughts,--to return to a perfectly normal state of mind.

The hour was very still, even the doves had fallen silent. For a few
seconds, as she knelt with covered eyes in her high balcony, only one
sound reached her ears; but that was the dip of an oar, the very
hea