im.
"She will sleep now," he said to himself, "sleep until I wake her. She
is young and strong, and there is no harm done; but she has had some
fearful shock, and it has shaken her like a slender birch struck by a
storm. I will send my old Marta, and she will look after her--poor
little bird!"

Kaya lay on her side with her face half turned to the pillow; her cheek
was flushed and her breath came gently through the arch of her lips.
Her curls were like a halo about her, and her right hand lay on the
blanket limp, small and white with the fingers relaxed.

"I am getting to be an old man," said the Kapellmeister to himself,
"and my heart is seared; but if I had a daughter, and she looked like
that--I would throw over the Tsar and all his kingdom. The great
Juggernaut of Autocracy has gone over her, and her wings are bruised.
It is only her voice that can save her now."

He rose to his feet slowly, and in the dim light of the moon his hair
was silvered, and he seemed weary and worn. He stood by the pallet,
looking down at the slim, still figure for a moment; and his hand stole
out and touched a strand of her hair. Then he covered her gently.
"Sleep," he said, "Sleep!" And he turned and went out, closing the
door.

CHAPTER XVII

"Is it only a week that I have been ill, Marta? It seems like a month."

"A week and a day, Fraeulein; but you are better now, and to-morrow, the
Doctor says you shall go out on the promenade and smell of the rose
buds."

Kaya was half lying, half seated on the pallet, with her hands clasped
behind her head; she was dressed in a blue gown, worn and shabby but
spotlessly neat, and her throat and her arms were bare. "But how soon
can I sing, Marta? Did he say when? Did you hear him?"

The old nurse sat by the bed-side, knitting and counting her stitches
aloud to herself from time to time.

"One--two--four--seven!" she mumbled, "Sing, Fraeulein? Ah, who can
tell! You are weak yet."

"No," said Kaya, "I am strong; see my arms. I can stand up quite well
and walk about the room with the help of your shoulder; you know I can,
Marta."

The old woman gave her a glance over her spectacles: "Seven--ten!" she
repeated, "If it were your spirit, Fraeulein, you would be Samson
himself; but your body--" She shook her head: "Na, when the master
comes, ask him yourself. It is he who has talked with the Doctor, not
I."

"He is coming now," said Kaya. "I hear his step on the stair