"I believe," said Sybella, as they went, venturing now, while aglow with
the music, on what heretofore had been forbidden ground to her,--"I
believe, if you would sing, I should be struck dumb, just as now, when
you play, I feel as if I could do anything in song. Why do you never
show me how a thing should be done by singing it? I've had teachers with
voices hoarse as crows', who did it; and I profited, for I understood
better what they meant. It seems to me to be the natural impulse, and I
don't know how you control it; for of course you do control it."
That was a venture, felt in all its venturesomeness, answered not with
encouragement.
"It is all nonsense," said Miss Edgar.
"I expected you to say so; but 't is a scant covering for the truth. For
_have_ I never heard you sing? When I was a little girl, my brothers and
I were sent to some springs in the mountains. While we were there, one
day a party of people came on horseback. They were very gay, and one of
them sang. It has come back to me so often, that day! So still, bright,
and cool! Did you ever hear singing in the Highland solitudes? When I
sing my best, I always seem to hear that voice again. Do you think I
never shall?"
"Do _you_ think it possible that such an effect as you describe should
be repeated? Evidently the outcome of some high-wrought, rapt state of
your own, rather than the result of any singer's skill. It may happen
you will never hear a voice like that again. But you may make far better
melody yourself. If you like my organ-music, don't ask me for better. A
little instrumental performance is all I have to give."
"But," said Sybella, holding to the point with a persistence that showed
she would not be lightly baffled, "her face haunted me, too. And I have
seen it since then,--engraved, I am sure. Sometimes, when I look at you
suddenly, I seem to take hold upon my childhood again."
They had passed from the yard, and walked, neither of them knew exactly
whither; but now said the organist abruptly,--
"Why have you never shown me where you live?"
A light that had warmth in it flashed over the pale face of Sybella.
"I will show you now," she said.
And so they walked on together, with a distinct aim,--Sybella the guide.
She seemed tranquilly happy at this moment, and fain would she lay her
heart in the hand of the organist; for a great trust had composed the
heart that long since withdrew its riches from the world, and hid them
for the coming of one who should take usury. How long he was in coming!
how strangely long! rare worldliness! almost it seemed that now she
would wait no longer, for the gold must be given away.
"Why do you sing, Sybella?" asked Miss Edgar, as they went.
"Why did I stop singing?" asked the young lady in turn; this stiff, shy,
proud creature, what flame might one soon see flaring out of those blue
eyes!
"I knew there had been a break,--that there must have been."
"For two years I did nothing but wait in silence."
"What,--for the voice to come back? overwork? paying a penalty?"
"No,--not the penalty of overwork, at least. I lost everything in a
moment. That was penalty, perhaps, for having risked everything. I have
only recently been getting back a little: no, getting _back_
nothing,--but some new life, out of a new world, I think. A different
world from what I ever thought to inhabit. New to me as the earth was to
Noah after the Flood. He couldn't turn a spade but he laid open graves,
nor pull a flower but it broke his heart. I should never have been in
the church-choir but for you. Of that I am satisfied. When you came and
asked me, you saw, perhaps, that I was excited more than so slight a
matter warranted. It was, indeed, a simple enough request. Not
surprising that you should discover, one way or another, I could sing.
And there was need enough of a singer with such an organist. But you
never could guess what I went through after I had promised, till the
Sunday came. You remember how astonished you were when I came into the
choir. I was afraid you were going to excuse me from my part. But you at
least understood something of it; you did not even ask if I were not
ill. It seems a long time since then."
A little to the organist's surprise, it was into a broad and handsome
street that Sybella now led the way, and before the door of a very
handsome house she stopped.
"Will you not come in and discover where I live, and how? It will be too
late in a moment for you to go back alone. I shall find somebody to
attend you."
"In the ten months I have played the organ of St. Peter's Church I have
not entered another person's dwelling than my own. I set aside a purpose
that must still be rigidly held, for you. Possibly you may incur some
danger in receiving me."
"Come in," said Sybella; and she led the way into the house. For one
instant she had looked her surprise at Miss Edgar's last words, but not
for half an instant did she look the hesitation such words might have
occasioned.
The house into which they passed did not, in truth, look like one to
suffer in. Walls lined with pictures, ceilings hung with costly
chandeliers, floors covered with softest, finest carpets of most
brilliant patterns, this seemed like a place for enjoyment, designed by
happy hearts. It was: all this wealth, and elaboration of its
evidences,--this covering of what might have looked like display by the
careful veil of taste. But the house was the home of orphaned
children,--of this girl, and three brothers, who were united in their
love for Sybella, but on few other points. And curious was the
revelation their love had. For they were worldly men, absorbed in
various ways by the world, and Sybella lived alone here, as she said,
though the house was the home of all; for one was now abroad, and one
was in the army, and one was--who knew where?
In the drawing-room it was about the piano that the evidences of real
life and actual enjoyment were gathered. Flowers filled a dozen vases
grouped on tables, ornamenting brackets, flower-stands, and pedestals of
various kinds. The grand piano seemed the base of a glowing and fragrant
pyramid; and there, it was easy to see, musical studies by day and by
night went on.
Straight toward the piano both ladies went.
"Now, for once," said the organist.
Sybella stood a moment doubting, then she turned to a book-rack and
began to look over some loose sheets of music. Presently desisting, she
came back. One steady purpose had been in her mind all the while. She
now sat down and produced from the piano what the organist had
astonished her by executing in the church. But it seemed a variation.
The work of a moment? an effort of memory? a wonderful recall of what
she had just now heard? The organist did not imagine such a thing. There
was, there could be, only one solution to anything so mysterious. She
came nearer to Sybella; invisible arms of succor seemed flung about the
girl, who played as she had never played before,--as weeping mortals
smile, when they are safe in heaven.
When she had finished, many minutes passed before either spoke a word.
At last Sybella said,--
"He told me there was no written copy of this thing he could secure for
me, but that I must have it; so he wrote it from memory, and I
elaborated the idea I had from his description, making some mistakes, I
find. I am speaking," she added, with a resolution so determined that it
had almost the sound of defiance,--"I am speaking of Adam von Gelhorn."
"When was this?"
"In our last days."
"He is dead, then?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Three years."
Whether the organist remained here after this, or if other words were
added to these by the hostess or the guest, there is no report. But I
can imagine that in such an hour, even between these two, little could
be said. Yesterday I saw on a monument a little bird perched, quite
content, and still, so far as song went, as the dead beneath him and
around me. He was throbbing from far flight; silence and rest were all
he could now endure. But by-and-by he shook his wings and was off again,
and nobody that saw him could tell where in the sea of air the voyager
found his last island of refreshment.