houlder 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