The sun came shining in through the garret windows, dancing over the floor in cones of light, caressing the geraniums until they gleamed a rich scarlet against the green of the ivy; and the cobwebs glistened like silk under the eaves. About the mill the doves flew in circles, alighting on the sill, clinging to the ivy with their pink claws, cooing gently, and pecking at the worm-eaten casement.

“Dear doves,” said Kaya, “You are hungry, and when you come to me for bread you find nothing but the stone. Chrr-rp!” She whistled softly and held her hands over the sill, dropping crumbs: “Chrr-rp! Come, pretty doves, and eat!”

The birds came nearer, eying her out of their bright eyes with little runs forward, then circling and cooing again.

“Chrr-rp!” she called, “Chrr-rp! Come!” And she held out her hands as if coaxing: “Come, my doves! Chrr-rp!”

One with fawn-coloured wings came flying and lighted on her shoulder; another followed.

“Come chrr-rp!”

The soft little bodies huddled against one another on the sill, pressing closer; some on her arm and some eating out of her hand. She stroked their bright plumage, holding a crumb between her teeth.

“Chrr-rp chrr-rp!”

The dove on her shoulder stretched his wings, pressing against her cheek with his breast, tipping forward on his pink feet, until his beak reached the crumb and he took it from her lips.

“Chrr-rp chrr-rp!”

Kaya laughed softly, rubbing her cheek against the down of the bird; whistling and coaxing with her hands. The doves flew about her, lighting, struggling for footing on her shoulder and curls; and she shook her head, laughing:

“Chrr-rp away with you! Would you pluck my hair and line your nests with my curls! Pischt away with you!” she flung out the crumbs again. “There eat, my pretty ones eat!”

Below, the great wheel turned and splashed in the water with a whirr, buzzing. Kaya gazed down at it, and as she gazed she forgot the doves, and a strange little shudder went over her, so that the one on her shoulder lifted his wings in affright.

The water was deep in the pool, and there were little ripples under the spokes where the sun-beams were dancing. She dropped on her knees before the window and began to sing, still gazing at the wheel, the doves all about her, pianissimo on the lower note of the scale, singing up, and then in arpeggios; each note distinct and separate like the link in a chain, pure, soft, hardly above a breath.

As she sang, her voice rose gradually, deepening and increasing in power. The doves pecked the crumbs on the sill, huddling against her and eating from her hands. She began to trill from one note to another, and in trilling, her thoughts ran hither and thither even as her voice, and her eyes wandered from the wheel, resting dreamily on the promenade, and the people walking under the trees.

The rhythm of a mazurka was in her ears and she sang louder, trying to drown it. She was in a great hall vaulted, dome-like with marble columns; violins were playing and the sound rose and fell, invisible as from the clouds. There was the perfume of flowers, heavy and languorous, and snatches of laughter, and the gleaming of jewels. The floor was shining and polished like a mirror, reflecting the forms of the dancers as they whirled to and fro. The light was dazzling and the colour.

She was dancing. Her feet flew in time to the rhythm. . . . Now it was dark and she was lying back on a divan, faint, helpless. The voice of the Prince was in her ears and he was bending over her; his eyes were crossed. . . . Ah, the clock was striking! It was midnight and someone had opened the door! Someone was crossing the room and bending over papers on the desk! . . . There was the sound of a shot! She was holding the pistol in her hand . . . It was smoking and through the vapoury wreathes she saw on the floor a body lying . . . a man on his face with his arms outstretched!

She shuddered again and the doves rose uneasily, circling about her, and lighting with fluttering wings.

“I have tried to atone,” she whispered to the birds, “Come back! God knows I have tried to atone!”

Then she went on trilling high up in the scale, her eyes gazing dreamily and her hands amongst the doves, stroking them, playing with them.

Suddenly the door opened.

“Is it you, Marta?”

“No, it is I.”

The voice was that of a man, deep and harsh, and the steps were firm. They crossed the room and stopped behind the kneeling figure.

“Hush!” said Kaya, “Not too near, dear Master! You will frighten the doves! See, how they press against me with their breasts and their wings and how they flutter! They were hungry this morning, but they have eaten now and are happy. Once they came to me and I had nothing for them. If they knew better, poor doves, it is you they would fly to, and your hands they would eat from; since it is you who have fed them, not I.”

“You were practising,” said the Kapellmeister, “That is well, Kaya. I heard you from the promenade and I saw you. Your curls were like a halo of gold in the sun, and the doves circled, cooing. One was on your shoulder. Ah, it has gone now I have startled it! It was close to your cheek, and you were feeding it from your lips.”

“Yes,” said Kaya, “Yes. It is sweet to be able to feed them. You have fed us both, dear Master.”

She turned her head slightly, smiling up at him.

“Turn your head further, Kaya; let me see your face.”

“The dove has come back. How can I? There move a little, my dove chrr-rp! Go away! No, he clings! See I cannot! The down on his breast is so soft and his feathers so warm. He presses so close.”

“Tell me, little one, how is your voice today? The same full and strong as it was that night? Are you Kaya to-day, or Bruennhild’?”

The girl smiled again.

“Look at me, child. I have come to talk to you. There is a rehearsal this morning for ‘Siegfried.’”

“Ah yes!”

“The performance is advertized for tomorrow.”

“ Yes?”

“Are you listening, Kaya? Your voice has a dreamy sound. What are you thinking about?”

She started. “Nothing!”

“What are you thinking about? Tell me.”

“Russia!”

The Kapellmeister gave a sharp exclamation: “That is why you would not turn your head! It was not the dove, I knew. Are you still ”

“Yes,” said Kaya, “Yes, it never leaves me. The curse, the curse of the Cross!”

She pressed her cheek against the dove, hiding her eyes.

“It must leave you!” said the Kapellmeister roughly, “There is work for you to do! Rouse yourself, Kaya! Drive away the doves now or I will do it myself. If you brood, you will ruin your voice do you hear me?”

“Pischt!” said Kaya, “Now they are gone ! I will not think any more of Russia to-day.”

The Kapellmeister went to the window and laid his hand where the dove had been, pressing the slender shoulder and forcing her to turn.

“I want you,” he said, “Now this morning! I have come for you!”

Kaya rose to her feet slowly: “To sit aloft in the flies and sing while Siegfried seeks me?” She smiled up at him; “You have come for your bird?”

“No.”

Her eyes searched his. “No,” she faltered, “did I sing badly? I I thought ”

“Kaya, the Schultz is ill.”

The colour rushed to the girl’s face and then fled away again, leaving her pale. “Ill!” she stammered, “You look at me so strangely, dear Master!”

“The Directors have authorized me to wire to Dresden for another soprano.”

“Yes ?”

“I refused.”

Kaya raised her blue eyes.

“I told them I had a Bruennhilde here on the spot. Can you do it? I have taken the risk. Can you do it? If you sing as you did that night !”

“I will,” cried Kaya, “I will!” She pressed against him like the doves, clasping her hands together. “It is only the one scene, Master; I know it so well, every note! Many times I rehearsed it with Helmanoff, many times. Bring me the helmet and the spear bring me Siegfried!” Her eyes were shining.

“Then come with me now,” cried the Kapellmeister, “As you are! Is that your hat on the nail? Put it on. The placards are out and the orchestra sits in the pit, waiting. I have promised them a Walkuere with a voice like a bell! Come, Kaya come! You are not nervous, little one, or afraid?”

Kaya ran lightly to the peg and took down her hat. She was laughing, and her face was alight as if the sun-beams had touched it; her lips were parted and the dimples came and went in her cheeks:

“Now my cloak!” she cried, “Quick! Help me the right sleeve, dear master, can you find it? Yes yes! And my gloves here they are!”

“Kaya, your face is like a rose and your feet are dancing.”

She blushed. “You don’t know,” she said, “I have dreamed all my life of being Bruennhilde. When I feel the helmet and the shield on my breast, and the touch of the spear it is like wine!” She stopped suddenly and passed her hand over her face.

“What is it, Kaya?”

“I forgot,” she said, “I forgot ! Take my cloak; take my hat! I cannot sing. I forgot!”

Ritter stared at her: “What do you mean, child; what are you talking about? Is it fright? Tschut! It will pass.” He took the cloak again and laid it about her shoulders: “Come now, the orchestra will be growing impatient. It is ten o’clock past.”

“I cannot,” said Kaya, and her lip trembled: “Telegraph to Dresden, dear Master quickly!”

“Potztausend and why?”

She backed slowly away from him and the cloak fell to the ground.

“Kaya, you shake as if you had a chill!”

“Can Bruennhilde sit aloft in the flies?” she said, “She is there in front of the footlights and everyone sees her. Oh I forgot!”

“Donnerwetter! Of course she is seen! Is it the sight of the audience that will frighten you?”

“No,” she said, “not the audience.”

Ritter made an impatient movement forward: “What then? Sacrement! You were full of joy not a moment ago; there was no fear in your eyes, and now it is as if someone had struck you!” He followed her to the corner where she had retreated step by step; and when she could go no further, he laid his hands on her shoulders.

“Look at me,” he said, “straight in the eyes, Kaya, straight in the eyes. You must.”

“I cannot!”

“I tell you you must.”

He bent over her, and she felt his hands bearing heavily on her shoulders; his eyes were flashing, insistent, determined: “You must.”

“I cannot.”

“Come.”

She shook her head.

“Kaya ! You have been like my child! I I love you as my own daughter! Your career, your success is dear to me. I have ventured more than you know on this chance that you might have it. The town is crowded with strangers. The House will be full. They will hear you and your fame may be made in a night! What is the matter with you, little one?”

“I cannot,” said Kaya.

His grasp grew heavier. “If you throw away this chance listen to me it may be years before you have another. You are young, and managers are hard to approach; you found that yourself. It is the merest accident of fate that the Schultz should be ill just now, while no other soprano is on hand, and you know the part. You sang it for me, Kaya, that night, and your voice was Bruennhilde’s own. Would you be a coward now? Come, and let me cover you with the shield and the helmet; when you feel the spear in your hand the fright will leave you. It is not like you to be afraid, Kaya. Your eyes are like a doe’s! Don’t be frightened, little one.”

She looked at him and tried to speak, but no words came.

“If I yielded to you, Kaya, if I let you be conquered by the stage-terror once, it would be a rock in your path forever. Come with me! My will is strong, stronger than yours, and I swear you shall come! If I have to carry you in my arms to the stage, you shall come; and you will thank me for it afterwards when the terror has passed.”

“No no!” The girl pressed closer against the wall, “Don’t, dear Master, take your hands from my shoulders. I cannot!”

“Come.”

“No.”

He stared down into the blue eyes: “I tell you you shall come. You are throwing away the chance of a lifetime; do you understand? If you have no care for your own future, I shall care for it for you. Kaya!”

“No.”

“Come, I tell you!”

His eyes were hard and cold, and her form was slight; it reeled in his grasp. She gazed at him and her chin was set like his own.

“If you care for me, Kaya, if you are grateful ” he hesitated, “Ah, come with me, Kaya! It is not fear I see in your eyes; it is something else. What is it? Tell me!” He put his arm about her shoulders suddenly, and the harsh look left his face: “Confide in me, little one, I won’t try to force you. You are slight and frail, but your will is like iron; it is useless. If I carried you it would be useless.”

Kaya took a quick breath. “Dear Master,” she said, “It is not the audience I fear, not the audience, but it is someone in the audience. If that someone should see me and and recognize me!”

“You forget, Kaya; did I recognize you?”

“No, but the foot-lights were not in my face. When the House is crowded and the curtain is up, and the glare is full in my eyes, then ”

“You are disguised by the hair red-blonde, and the helmet covering. No one could tell! At a distance you are not Kaya, you are Bruennhilde. Bruennhilde is always the same. When your eyes are hidden, Kaya, and your curls the House is large no one could tell!” He was drawing her slowly toward the door.

“You did not,” said Kaya, “but if he were there he would know.”

“Who?”

She looked at him mutely, and he took his hand from her shoulder.

“Whoever it is,” exclaimed Ritter harshly, “from the House, I swear to you, your own mother would not know you, unless she had seen you before in the part. That is nonsense! From the orchestra perhaps, from the conductor’s stand but not from the House. Kaya, you hurt me, child; you hurt me sorely if you refuse!”

He stood before her with his arms folded. “My heart is set on your success,” he said, “and if ”

Kaya, looking up suddenly, saw that there were tears in his eyes. “Master,” she cried. And then her will broke suddenly like iron in a furnace, red-hot under the stroke of the hammer. “You are sure?” she cried, “From the House no one would know me? You are sure?”

“I am sure.”

She hesitated, looking away from him.

“No one?” she repeated, “not even ”

Then she raised her eyes and came closer to the Kapellmeister, looking up in his face. “He loves me,” she stammered, “And I I love him! But the curse is between us if he should find me again ! Ah, it is myself I am afraid of myself!” Her breath came in sobs and her face quivered.

The Kapellmeister lifted the cloak from the floor and put it around her shoulders. There was a strange light in his eyes. He gazed at her for a moment; then he caught her by the hand and drew her toward the door.

“Come!” he said, “Trust me, Kaya. I understand at last I understand. Come!”

She yielded without a word.

They were both trembling.