Late in the night again she heard music. She had been listening for it a long time. Night to her was often tediously long. Often she spent many hours staring at the square of paler darkness, star-bestrewn, the window made. At a certain pitch of nervousness, soon reached when the city had become quiet and the stillness of the bedroom was full of mysterious sounds, she always thought of a dear sister she had lost, rehearsing old sad scenes vivid in her brain as if they had been lived through but yesterday. Her own physical discomfort increased as she thought of that other girl's long-drawn-out suffering. It seemed to her that already she could not breathe; her body was damp with sweat of fear. "It is all useless!" she groaned, tossing wretchedly. "I too--I too am going that way!" Then she prayed diligently, and looked out up at the stars with a return of tranquillity, hoping steadfastly in a beautiful world beyond them. But on the night in question she lay patiently and happily watchful. And late in the night again she heard music. No very definite melody was played; it was as if skilful hands were dreamily straying over the keys, unravelling a little tangled skein of musical impression, thinking aloud. The tune wandered and flitted like a butterfly over a summer garden. Paula's thought climbed upward and entered the musician's chamber. She saw him clearly, leaning back, looking upward, swaying slightly. She took joy in the symmetry of his dark Italian face. She pictured him intensely, and held her breath gazing. Then she tried to build up his surroundings; she adorned his room poetically. Satisfied at last, her imagination folded its wings and dropped back into its nest. She merely listened, and let herself be comforted; accepted passively what dreams the music imposed. It was as if she and another were walking in a moonless starry night along a quiet village road; and the dewy flowers in the stilly little gardens skirting the way were giving forth perfume in the warm dark. Then it was as if another and she were in a boat with drooping sail, becalmed, drifting slowly. The moon was behind a great cloud wonderfully silvered on the ravelled edges; the sea at the horizon was a streak of pure light. The other had laid her on velvet cushions and covered her with a cloak, was playing and singing softly to her. They hoped the wind would not rise. Drifting--drifting. And she slept.