urcell's hand, by which she raised
herself, and then uncovering her face, looked furtively at the malign
furnace-white face of Mr. Pericles.

"It cannot have gone,"--she spoke, as if mentally balancing the
possibility.

"It has gone, I say; and you know why, Mademoiselle ze Fool!" Mr.
Pericles retorted.

"No, no; it can't be gone. Gone? voices never go!"

The reiteration of the "You know why," from Mr. Pericles, and all the
wretchedness of loss it suggested, robbed her of the little spark of
nervous fire by which she felt half-reviving in courage and confidence.

"Let me try once more," she appealed to him, in a frenzy.

Mr. Pericles, though fully believing in his heart that it might only
be a temporary deprivation of voice, affected to scout the notion of
another trial, but finally extended his forefinger: "Well, now; start!
'Sempre al tuo Santo!' Commence: Sem--" and Mr. Pericles hummed the
opening bar, not as an unhopeful man would do. The next moment he was
laughing horribly. Emilia, to make sure of the thing she dreaded, forced
the note, and would not be denied. What voice there was in her came to
the summons. It issued, if I may so express it, ragged, as if it had
torn through a briar-hedge: then there was a whimper of tones, and
the effect was like the lamentation of a hardly-used urchin, lacking a
certain music that there is in his undoubted heartfelt earnestness. No
single note poised firmly for the instant, but swayed, trembling on its
neighbour to right and to left when pressed for articulate sound, it
went into a ghastly whisper. The laughter of Mr. Pericles was pleasing
discord in comparison.

CHAPTER XL

Emilia stretched out her hand and said, "Good-bye." Seeing that the
hardened girl, with her dead eyelids, did not appear to feel herself at
his mercy, and also that Sir Purcell's forehead looked threatening, Mr.
Pericles stopped his sardonic noise. He went straight to the door, which
he opened with alacrity, and mimicking very wretchedly her words of
adieu, stood prepared to bow her out. She astonished him by passing
without another word. Before he could point a phrase bitter enough for
expression, Sir Purcell had likewise passed, and in going had given him
a quietly admonishing look.

"Zose Poles are beggars!" Mr. Pericles roared after them over the
stairs, and slammed his door for emphasis. Almost immediately there
was a knock at it. Mr. Pericles stood bent and cat-like as Sir Purcell
r