But, as
Madge sang, the noble art soon lifted her above all lower thoughts,
and she forgot everything but Graydon and the hope of her heart. She
sang for him alone, as she had learned to sing for him alone.
In spite of her explanations he looked at her with the same old wonder
and perplexity of which he had been conscious from the first. If she
had merely sung with correctness and taste, like Miss Wildmere, there
would have been nothing to disturb his complacent admiration; but now
he almost felt like springing to her side with the words, "What is it,
Madge? Tell me all."
As the last lovely notes ceased, only the unthinking children
applauded. From the others there was entreaty.
"Please sing again, Miss Alden," said the gentleman who had first
asked her. "I am an old man, and can't hope for many more such rich
pleasures. I am not an amateur, and know only the music that reaches
my heart."
"Sing something from 'Lohengrin,' Madge," said Henry Muir, quietly.
She glanced at him, and there was a humorous twinkle in his eyes.
Herr Brachmann had trained her thoroughly in some of Wagner's
difficult music, and she gave them a selection which so far surpassed
the easy melodies of Verdi, which Miss Wildmere had sung, that the
latter sat pale and incensed, yet not daring to show her chagrin.
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