It was a wonderful piece of singing. In the first lines her voice rose clear and confident, reassuring against the mere physical perils. Then with the faintest change of tone, just sufficient to mark the shift in the form of menace, she sang the third line; and let a tinge of melancholy creep into the next. With the last couplet something new came into the music, possibly a drop into the minor; and her voice seemed to fill with an echo of all lost hopes and spent delights. Then it rose again, full and strong in the mandatory lines of the final verse, set to a different air, till at last it died away once more with infinite tenderness: “_Quiet consummation have; And renownèd be thy grave._” I sat spellbound after she had ended. It was wonderful art. She closed the piano and rose from her seat. “I can’t imagine why you dislike that air,” said Nordenholt. “Oh, it’s so gloomy, Uncle Stanley. I don’t care to think about things like that.” “Gloomy? You misread it, I’m sure. I wish I could be sure of Fidele’s luck. ‘_Fear not slander, censure rash._’ Which of us can feel sure of being free from these? Not I. And what better could one wish for in the end? ‘_And renownèd be thy grave._’ How many ghosts could boast of that after a hundred years?” “Well, none of us will know about that part of it,” she said lightly. “But I don’t think you need trouble about the ‘censure rash.’ None of your own people will blame you; and I know you care nothing for the rest. Even if they all turned against you, you would always have me, you know.” “Is that a promise, Elsa?” he asked gravely; and something in his tone made her glance at him. “Would you really stand by me no matter what happened? Don’t say yes, unless you really mean it.” She stood in front of him, eye to eye, for a moment without speaking. “I don’t understand,” she said at last. “You never doubted me before. It hurts. Of course I promise you. No matter what happens I won’t leave you. But you must promise never to send me away until I want to go.” “Very good, Elsa, I promise.” The strain seemed to relax in a moment. I don’t think they realised how strange it all seemed to me. They were living in their own world, and I was outside, I felt, rather bitterly. And of course, none of us was quite normal at that time. Miss Huntingtower came to me and held out her hand. “Thanks so much for coming, Mr. Flint. Somehow I feel as if I had known you for years instead of only a few hours. Now I’ll say good-night and leave you with Uncle Stanley.”