heard the nightingales sing like that; but
never a woman. The timbre is crystal and pure, like clear, running
water. When you soar to the heights, it is like a lark flying; and
when you drop into alt, it is a tone that forces the tears to one's
eyes, so pathetic and strange. Who taught you, Kaya? Who taught you
to sing like that? Or were you born so with a voice alive in your
throat; you had only to open it and let it come out?"

She shook her head, swinging her feet, trying to laugh.

"It is so small," she said wistfully. "You are a musician, Monsieur
Velasco, and I--I know nothing of music. No--I will pass the cap for
pennies. Give it to me. Is it getting late, must we go?"

She took the cap and put it on her head, on the back of her curls,
avoiding his eyes. "Will that do for a gypsey? Is it
straight--Velasco?" She said the name quite low and breathed
hurriedly, with a flush on her cheeks.

He was still staring at her, but he said nothing; he made no motion and
she drew away from him a little frightened.

"You are like a violin," he murmured, "I told you you were like a
violin. You are all music, as I am music. We will make music
together--Kaya. Sing for me again, just open your lips and
breathe--once more! Let me hear you trill?"

"I can't," said the girl. "I am faint, Velasco. When I look at you
now there is a mist before my eyes. The room sways." She put out her
hands suddenly, as if to steady herself.

Velasco started back: "Good heavens, Kaya, what is the matter? The
colour has gone from your cheeks; there are shadows under your eyes,
deep and heavy as though they were painted. Don't faint, will you?
Don't! I shouldn't know what under heaven to do!"

The girl slipped down from the table and, staggering a little, threw
herself into the chair by the fire-place. "Get me some food, Velasco;
some bread, some wine. In a moment it will pass!" She began laughing
again immediately. "Don't be frightened. It is you who are pale, not
I. Just a morsel to eat--Velasco. Since last night I have eaten
nothing. You forget how hungry a boy can be! Is there time?"

Velasco had snatched the red wine from the table and was pouring it out
in a glass, holding it to her lips.

"Drink, Kaya, drink--and here are biscuits, shall I break them for you?
Don't speak. Shut your eyes, and drink, and eat. I will feed you."

He hovered over her with little exclamations of pity and self-reproach.

"Wh