osely-packed
hall. No one could doubt that the first part of the aria was a success,
for half-subdued applause broke out when the voice sank into silence,
and for a few moments the piano rippled on alone; but it seemed to
Winifred that there was a look of tension in the singer's face, and she
grew uneasy, for she understood the cause for it.

"The last bit of the second part's rather trying," remarked a young man
behind her. "There's an awkward jump at two full tones that was too much
for our soprano when we tried it at the choral union. Miss Ismay's voice
is very true in intonation, but I don't suppose most of the audience
would notice it if she shirked a little and left that high sharp out."

Winifred had little knowledge of music, but she was sufficiently
acquainted with her friend's character to be certain that Agatha would
not attempt to leave out the sharp in question. This was one reason why
she sat rigidly still when the clear voice rang out again. It rose from
note to note, full and even, but she could see the singer's face, and
there was no doubt whatever that Agatha was making a strenuous effort.
Nobody else, however, seemed to notice it, for Winifred flung a swift
glance around, and then fixed her eyes upon the dominant figure in the
corn-straw dress. The sweet voice was still rising and the interested
listener hoped that the accompanist would force the tone to cover it a
little, and put on the loud pedal. The pianist, however, was gazing at
his music, and played on until, with startling suddenness, the climax
came.

The voice sank a full tone, rose, and hoarsely trailed off into silence
again. Then the accompanist glanced over his shoulder, and struck a
ringing chord while he waited for a sign. There was a curious stirring
in the audience. The girl in the shimmering dress stood quite still for
a moment with a spot of crimson in her cheek and a half-dazed look in
her eyes. Then, turning swiftly, she moved off the stage.

Winifred rose with a gasp, and turned upon the young man next her, who
looked up inquiringly.

"Yes," she said sharply; "can't you let me pass? I'm going out."

It was about half-past nine when she reached the wet street. A fine rain
drove into her face, and she had rather more than a mile to walk without
an escort, but that was a matter which caused her no concern. She was a
self-reliant young woman, and accustomed to going about unattended. She
was quite aware that the scene she had