your hand is, little one! Of course you shall
sing. You shall be our great Bruennhilde and the visitors will flock to
Ehrestadt, and you will be famous and beloved."

He hesitated: "I can't see you, only your eyes gleaming, Kaya. How
bright they are, little one, like live coals! Where did you get that
name--'Master'? Did Marta teach you? My pupils say that, the chorus,
the orchestra, and the singers; but you never used it before. It is
because I am old now and my hair is grey, and you are a child. I must
seem to you like your father, Kaya."

"No," said the girl quickly, "not my father! He was hard and cruel; he
was a friend of the Tsar. I--I never loved him."

"Nor me," cried the Kapellmeister hoarsely, "Nor me!"

The words sprang to his lips in spite of himself; they were low, and he
thought she did not hear; but her ear was keen. She bent forward
taking his hand, and kissed it swiftly, holding it between her own.

"Dear Kapellmeister! Dear Master!" she cried, half laughing, half with
a sob: "You know I love you. When I was ill and alone, and desperate,
and helpless, longing to die, you came to me. You saved me and helped
me; and I was nothing to you but a stranger. You were father and
mother to me; and now, you are my master, and teacher, and friend."
She lifted his hand again to her lips and caressed it: "I love you,"
she cried, "dear Master, I love you with all my heart!"

Ritter stirred against the cushions; his hand lay limp in her clasp.
"Yes, little one," he said, "Yes. Your heart is like your voice,
fathomless and pure. The carriage has stopped now, and there is the
candle, burning up yonder under the eaves. Can you find your way
alone, without help? I am strangely weary."

His voice was low, and the words came slowly, with an effort. He
passed his hand over his face:

"Good-night--Bruennhild'!"

He held her hands and drew her towards him: "Good-night, little one.
There are shadows under your eyes, and your lip quivers; you are
pale.--Good-night." He held her for a moment in a strong grasp,
staring down into her face; then she was gone and the door closed
behind her. His hands were empty, and the horses had turned, and were
galloping back through the rain and the night.

CHAPTER XX

It was dusk, and the lights of the Rathskeller began to twinkle out one
by one. The Keller was long and rambling, divided into innumerable
small alcoves and corners, partitioned by strange