Oh, chide me not for uttering words uncalled; Chastise me not for sacred spell I've broken In which your lofty spirit is enthralled. I am a struggler--I must needs have spoken. Good Heavens! Did this refer to her, to Lilly Czepanek, who ate her heart out in dull self-depreciation? If any human being in the world could think of her so, above all _he_, the most glorious--she knew the poem, though unsigned, came from him--then after all she was not in such a bad way; then perhaps her life had not taken a permanent hold upon her; probably her innermost being had remained intact, and values lay strewn in her soul which needed only to be used in order to sanctify and bless herself and others. Long after she knew the verses by heart she read them again and again. She could not tear her eyes from the beloved writing. Then she tried to set the words to music. She opened the piano, and fantasied. Her playing came back to her as on the other night; everything she had known as a girl and had thought long forgotten came back. She needed merely to drop her fingers on the keys, and there it was--or nearly so. But her finger joints were stiff, and the muscles of her lower arm soon wearied. She would have to practise and limber them. "When he visits me, I can even play a classic for him," she thought. Buoyed by the new hope she floated further along on the current of her newly won self-esteem. At the same time she kept careful count of each minute that separated her from the evening. Richard found her practicing assiduously. "What's gotten into you to-day?" he asked. "I hadn't the slightest idea you could play so well." "Neither had I," laughed Lilly. "You must play for the others this very evening." "This evening?" Lilly asked, alarmed. "I thought I had this evening free." "Free! What do you mean by free?" he rejoined, evidently annoyed. "You act just as if our going out in company were heaven knows what a sacrifice. You keep to yourself whenever you can possibly get a chance. Yesterday, in fact, Karla said nobody really knows what sort of life you lead." "I think that applies much better to Karla than to me. Nobody really knows her name." "It doesn't matter. Others have criticised your reserved ways, too. One man even hinted I'd better keep my eye on you more than I do, and not let you go your own way so much. So to hush them up I promised I'd bring you this evening instead of yesterday. There's no getting out of it." Lilly instantly reflected that a refusal, far from helping, would merely arouse his dormant suspicions. So she bravely choked down fright and tears. But when he left the anguish of disappointment was all the keener. What would Dr. Rennschmidt think if he came at the appointed time and found her out? Since he had not mentioned his address, she could not write to him, and he would have a full day in which to nurse evil suspicions.