He went his nearest to meeting her hand, and his guesswork was not much
at fault. A galvanic thrill again shot through him at her touch, and
again neither of them showed any great alacrity to disconnect. "You are
sorry for me," said he.

"Indeed I am. I cannot tell you how much so." She seemed to keep his
hand in hers to say this, and the action and the word were mated, to his
mind. She could not have done this but for my misfortune, thought he to
himself. But oh!--what leagues apart it placed them, that this
semi-familiarity should have become possible on so short an
acquaintance! Society reserves would have kept him back still in the
ranks of men. This placed him among cripples, a disqualified ruin.

His heart sank, for he knew now that she had no belief that this awful
darkness would end. So be it! But, for now, there was the pure joy of
holding that hand for a moment! Forget it all--forget everything!--think
only of this little stolen delirium I can cheat the cruelty of God out
of, before I am the forsaken prey of Chaos and black Night. That was his
thought. He said not a word, and she continued:--"How much can you play?
I mean, can you do the fingering in spite of your eyes? Try some more."
She had barely withdrawn her hand even then.

"I only make a very poor business of it at present," he said. "I shall
have to practise under the new circumstances. When the music jumps half
a mile along the piano I hit the wrong note. Anything that runs easy I
can play." He played the preliminary notes of the accompaniment of _Deh
vieni alla finestra_. "Anything like that. But I can't tackle anything
extensive. My hands haven't quite got strong again, I suppose. Now you
come!"

He was beginning a hesitating move from the music-stool with a sense of
the uncertainty before him when his anchorage was forsaken, but
postponed it as a reply to his companion's remark:--"I'm not coming yet.
I'll play presently.... You were accompanying yourself just now. I was
listening to you at the end of the piano."

"Anybody can accompany himself; he's in his own confidence." He struck a
chord or two, of a duet, this time, and she said:--"Yes--sing that. I
can recollect it without the music. I've sung it with the Signore no end
of times." They sang it together, and Gwen kept her voice down. She was
not singing with the tenor known all over Europe, this time; nor was the
room at any time, big as it was, more than large enough for this young
lad