In linking these adjectives, you will realize one of my infatuations wherever they are substantively found. Enough. I dared not leave off singing, and my voice was rather strong, so I could not clearly decide upon hers, until Davy wrote up a few intervals for unisons, which very few of us achieved on the instant. My calm companion was among those who did. Her voice was more touching than any I had ever heard, and a true contralto; only more soft than deep, more distilling than low. But unknowing as I was, I was certain she had sung, and had learned to sing, long before she had joined the class; for in her singing there was that purified quality which reminds one (it did me) of filtered water, and she pronounced most skilfully the varied vocables. I felt afterwards that she must have been annoyed at my pertinacious scrutiny, but she betrayed not the remotest cognizance of me or my regards; and this indifference compelled me to watch her far more than sympathetic behavior would have done. That evening seemed long to me while we were at work, but I could not bear the breaking-up. I had become, as it were, connected with my companions, though we had not exchanged a word. I was rather disposed to wait and see who would join my little girl with her wild eyes, and my serene young lady. I believe I should have done so, but Lenhart Davy kindly came up from below and shook hands with me; and while I was receiving and returning his greeting, they were lost in the general crowd. He took me himself down stairs to Margareth, who was awaiting me with a cloak and a comforter in a little unfurnished room; and then he himself departed, looking very tired. CHAPTER XII. I did not see him again until the next class-night. It was strange to find the same faces about me; and above all, my two heroines, dressed exactly as on the first occasion, except that the pink frock was rather less brilliant. I listened eagerly for those pure tones to swell, communing with my own, and I was not disappointed. We did not sing anything that I can specify at present; but it was more than pleasure--it was vitality--to me to fling out my own buoyant notes far and wide, supported, as it were, by an atmosphere of commingling sounds. I suppose, therefore, that I may have been singing very loud when the daring little head out of the muslin bonnet put itself into my face and chanted, in strict attention to Davy's rules all the time, "How beautifully you do sing!" I was hushed for the moment, and should have been vexed if I had not been frightened; for I was ridiculously timorous as a child.