work, in their tense, full-packed phrases. With what a throb
of longing and envy Hadria used to feel the vibration through her own
nerves! It was only when completely exhausted and harassed that the
response was lacking. To-night everything seemed to be obliterated. Her
hope, her interest were, for the moment, tired out. Her friends would be
disappointed in her, but there was no help for it.

She picked up the score of her music, and stood, with a handful of the
once precious offspring of her brain held out towards the flames. Then
she drew it back, and half closed her eyes in self-scrutinizing thought.
"Come now," she said to herself, "are you sincere in your intention of
giving up? Are you not doing this in a fit of spite against destiny? as
if destiny cared two straws. Heavens! what a poor little piece of
melodrama. And to think that you should have actually taken yourself in
it by it. One acts so badly with only oneself for audience. You know
perfectly well that you are _not_ going to give in, you are _not_ going
to attempt to stifle that which is the centre of your life; you have not
courage for such slow suicide. Don't add insincerity to the other faults
that are laid to your account----" She mused over the little
self-administered lecture. And probing down into her consciousness, she
realized that she could not face the thought of surrender. She meant to
fight on. The notion of giving in had been seized instinctively, for a
moment of rest. Nothing should really make her cease the struggle, until
the power itself had been destroyed. She was sure of it, in her heart,
in spite of failures and miserably inadequate expressions of it.
Suddenly, as a shaft of light through parting clouds, came bursting
forth, radiant, rejoicing, that sense of power, large, resistless,
genial as morning sunshine. Yes, yes, let them say what they might,
discourage, smile, or frown as they would, the faculty was given to her,
and she would fight for opportunity to use it while she had breath.

CHAPTER XIII.

As if it had all been ingeniously planned, the minutest incidents and
conditions of Hadria's life conspired towards the event that was to
decide its drift for ever.

Often, in the dim afternoon, she would sit by the window and watch the
rain sweeping across the country, longing then for Temperley's music,
which used to make the wild scene so unspeakably beautiful. Now there
was no music, no music anywhere, only this fierce a