She fled away on the wings of the exquisite song, startling Agnes with the passion which she imparted to every note--a passion that waxed greater with every phrase until at the close of the stanza it became overwhelming. The music of the moon is embodied in every note, though the master was too artistic to make any attempt to reproduce the nightingale's song. He knew that no such attempt could ever approach success; but he knew that it was within the scope of his art to produce upon the mind the same effect as is produced by the song of the nightingale, and this effect he achieved. Agnes listened with surprise at first, for the girl had never sung with such _abandon_ before; but at the plaintive second stanza--the music illustrated another effect of the bird's singing--she half-closed her eyes, and gave herself up to the delight of listening. At the third stanza--Love Triumphant, the composer had called it--she became more amazed than before. The theme takes the form of a duet, as the scena was originally arranged by the composer, and now it actually appeared to Agnes as if the tenor part was being sung as well as the soprano, in the room--no, not in the room, but in the distance--outside the house. She raised her head and listened eagerly. There could be no doubt about it--some one was singing at the window the tenor part of the duet. CHAPTER XXI |CLARE was absorbed in her singing--she seemed to be quite unaware of the fact that there was anything unusual in the introduction of the second voice--indeed she appeared to be unconscious of everything but the realisation of the aims of the composer. Agnes did not make any attempt to interrupt her, and the duet went on to its passionate close. But so soon as the last notes had died away, the phrase was repeated, after a little pause, by the singer outside. “Beating against dawn's silver door, The song has fled over sea, over sea; Morn's music to thee is for evermore-- But what is for me, love, what is for me?” The passionate cry was repeated with startling effect. But not until the last note had sounded did Clare spring from her seat at the piano. She stood in the centre of the room in the attitude of an eager listener. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were still tremulous with the tears that evermore rushed to them when singing that song. She listened, but no further note came from that mysterious voice. The night was silent. The girl turned to Agnes; a little frown was on her face, but still it was roseate, and she gave a laugh. “I did not think that he could possibly be so great a fool,” she said, as if communing with herself. “A fool!” cried Agnes. “Is it possible that you know who it is that sang? I thought that I was dreaming when I first heard that voice; and then--but you know who it is?”