undly sympathetic and tender natures. Algitha anxiously
watched the effect of her sister's playing on her companion.

The wild power of the composer was not merely obvious, it was
overwhelming. It was like "a sudden storm among mountains," "the
wind-swept heavens at midnight," "the lonely sea": he struggled for the
exactly-fitting simile. There was none, because of its many-sidedness.
Loneliness remained as an ever-abiding quality. There were moon-glimpses
and sun-bursts over the scenery of the music; there was sweetness, and a
vernal touch that thrilled the listeners as with the breath of flowers
and the fragrance of earth after rain, but always, behind all fancy and
grace and tenderness, and even passion, lurked that spectral loneliness.
The performer would cease for some minutes, and presently begin again in
a new mood. The music was always characteristic, often wild and strange,
yet essentially sane.

"There is a strong Celtic element in it," said the Professor. "This is a
very wonderful gift. I suppose one never does really know one's fellows:
her music to-night reveals to me new sides of Hadria's character."

"I confess they alarm me," said Algitha.

"Truly, this is not the sort of power that can be safely shut up and
stifled. It is the sort of power for which everything ought to be set
aside. That is my impression of it."

"I am worried about Hadria," Algitha said. "I know her better than most
people, and I know how hard she takes things and what explosive force
that musical instinct of hers has. Yet, it is impossible, as things are,
for her to give it real utterance. She can only open the furnace door
now and then."

The Professor shook his head gravely. "It won't do: it isn't safe. And
why should such a gift be lost?"

"That's what I say! Yet what is to be done? There is no one really to
blame. As for Hubert, I am sorry for him. He had not the faintest idea
of Hadria's character, though she did her best to enlighten him. It is
hard for him (since he feels it so) and it is desperate for her. You are
such an old friend, that I feel I may speak to you about it. You see
what is going on, and I know it is troubling you as it does me."

"It is indeed. If I am not very greatly mistaken, here is real musical
genius of the first order, going to waste: strong forces being turned in
upon the nature, to its own destruction; and, as you say, it seems as if
nothing could be done. It is the more ironically cruel, sinc