sco!" she cried.

"Kaya--Kaya!"

But the audience thought she had called out to Siegfried, and to
encourage her they applauded, clapping and stamping with their feet and
their hands. The sound revived her suddenly like the dash of cold
water on the face of a sleep-walker.

"I must go on!" she said to herself, "Whatever happens I must go on!"
Her eyes were still riveted.

The face of Velasco was white as death; great drops stood out on his
brows, his fingers quivered over the baton. He moved it mechanically,
gazing, and he swayed in his seat as if faint and oppressed. The other
hand was stretched trembling toward her as if a vision had come in his
path suddenly and he was blinded.

Her lips moved again, and his. For a moment it seemed as if he were
about to leap to the stage over the foot-lights. Bruennhilde fell back.

"For God's sake!" whispered Siegfried, "What is it? Are you mad?
Sing--sing! Let out your voice--take up your cue! Go on!"

Again she cried out; but this time her voice was in the tone, and the
emotion of it, the longing, rent the air as with passion unveiled and
bared. She shook the spear aloft in her hands, brandishing it, until
the gleam from the flames lit it up like a spark, and fell on her
helmet.

Siegfried besought her and she answered, they sang together; but as she
answered, singing, her eyes were still fixed, and she sang as one out
of herself and inspired.

"Siegfried!"
"Bruennhilde!"
"Siegfried! Siegfried! seliger Held!
Pu Wecker des Lebens, siegendes Licht!"

The tempo quickened and the rhythm; and the tones grew higher and
richer, ringing, more passionate. Such acting--such singing! It was
as if the Walkuere herself had come out of the trance back to life, and
the audience saw Bruennhilde in the flesh. The House reverberated to
the sound of her voice; it was a glory, a revelation.

She sang on and on, and Siegfried answered; but the eyes of the Singer,
and her hands lifted, were toward the House, the orchestra pit, the
desk, the baton--the head with its dark hair falling and the arm
outstretched.

The curtain fell slowly.

"Bruennhilde! Bruennhilde!"

With the flaring up of the lights the House was in an uproar. "Who was
she? What was she? Where did she come from? Ah--h! Bruennhilde!"

They clapped and stamped, and shouted themselves hoarse, calling her
name: "Bruennhilde!"

* * * * * *

"She is there!" cri