ce find words in which to describe, to
Krespel, how, in Antonia, a Cantatrice of the first rank was blossoming
out. Krespel's friends in F----, too, kept on telling him of this;
begging him to go there and hear these two remarkable singers. Of
course they had no idea of the relationship in which Krespel stood to
them. He would fain have gone and seen his daughter, who lived in the
depths of his heart, and whom he often saw in dreams. But the thought
of what his wife was restrained him: and he stayed at home, amongst his
dismembered fiddles.

"I daresay you remember a very promising young composer in F---- of the
name of B----, who suddenly ceased to be heard of--no one knew why:
perhaps you may have known him. Well, he fell deeply in love with
Antonia; she returned his affection, and he urged her mother to consent
to a union consecrated by art. Angela was quite willing, and Krespel
gave his consent all the more readily that this young _maestro's_
writings had found favour before his critical tribunal. Krespel was
expecting to hear of the marriage every day, when there came a letter
with a black seal, addressed in a stranger's hand. A certain Dr.
M---- wrote to say that Angela had been taken seriously ill, in
consequence of a chill caught at the theatre, and had passed away on the
very night before the day fixed for Antonia's marriage. He added that
Angela had told him she was Krespel's wife, and Antonia his daughter;
so that he ought to come and take charge of her. Deeply as he was shocked
by Angela's death, he could not but feel that a certain disturbing element
was removed from his life, and that he could breathe freely, for the
first time for many a long day. You cannot imagine how affectingly he
described the moment when he saw Antonia for the first time. In the
very oddness of his description of it lay a wonderful power of
expression which I am unable to give any idea of. Antonia had all the
charm and attractiveness of Angela, with none of her nasty reverse
side. There was no cloven foot peeping out anywhere. B----, her husband
that was to have been, came. Antonia comprehending her quaint father,
with delicate tact, and seeing into his inner depths, sang one of those
motetts of old Padre Martini which she knew Angela used to sing to him
during the fullest blossom-time of their days of love. He shed rivers
of tears. Never had he heard even Angela sing so splendidly. The tone
of Antonia's voice was quite _sui generis