in stentorian tones to
summon ELSA VON BRABANT. Then he began to realize that he was rather
frightened. There was a flutter of white at the back of the stage, and
women began to come in: two, four, six, eight, but not the right one. It
flashed across him that this was something like buck-fever, the
paralyzing moment that comes upon a man when his first elk looks at him
through the bushes, under its great antlers; the moment when a man's
mind is so full of shooting that he forgets the gun in his hand until
the buck nods adieu to him from a distant hill.

All at once, before the buck had left him, she was there. Yes,
unquestionably it was she. Her eyes were downcast, but the head, the
cheeks, the chin--there could be no mistake; she advanced slowly, as if
she were walking in her sleep. Some one spoke to her; she only inclined
her head. He spoke again, and she bowed her head still lower. Archie had
forgotten his libretto, and he had not counted upon these long pauses.
He had expected her to appear and sing and reassure him. They seemed to
be waiting for her. Did she ever forget? Why in thunder didn't she--She
made a sound, a faint one. The people on the stage whispered together
and seemed confounded. His nervousness was absurd. She must have done
this often before; she knew her bearings. She made another sound, but he
could make nothing of it. Then the King sang to her, and Archie began to
remember where they were in the story. She came to the front of the
stage, lifted her eyes for the first time, clasped her hands and began,
"EINSAM IN TRUBEN TAGEN."

Yes, it was exactly like buck-fever. Her face was there, toward the
house now, before his eyes, and he positively could not see it. She was
singing, at last, and he positively could not hear her. He was conscious
of nothing but an uncomfortable dread and a sense of crushing
disappointment. He had, after all, missed her. Whatever was there, she
was not there--for him.

The King interrupted her. She began again, "IN LICHTER WAFFEN SCHEINE."
Archie did not know when his buckfever passed, but presently he found
that he was sitting quietly in a darkened house, not listening to but
dreaming upon a river of silver sound. He felt apart from the others,
drifting alone on the melody, as if he had been alone with it for a long
while and had known it all before. His power of attention was not great
just then, but in so far as it went he seemed to be looking through an
exalted calmn