a fine instrument, made in Cremona, but by no means so
handsome in appearance as Ortensia's ivory one. It was differently
designed, too, being much longer, with a double fret-board and no less
than nineteen strings.

'Let me see,' Stradella said, when he was ready. 'That song of the
Senator's you just sang--how was it?'

He struck chords, bent low over the lute, softly hummed a few snatches
of the melody, and then, to Ortensia's surprise, he began to sing the
piece as if he knew it well. He sang softly, without the least effort,
and his voice seemed neither high nor deep, but there was a tone in it
that the young girl had never heard before, and that sent a thrill to
her heart at the very first note. She bent forwards, watching him with
parted lips and eyes full of wonder, scarcely breathing till he finished
the stanza and spoke to her again.

'Is that it?' he asked quietly, and he smiled as he looked at her.

'But you know it!' she cried. 'If I had ever heard you I should not have
dared to try to sing before you!'

'I never heard it before,' Stradella answered, 'but I catch any tune
easily. Shall we study it a little?' he went on, before she could speak
again. 'I will accompany you at first, and I will stop you now and then,
where I think you might do better. Shall we?'

Again he smiled, but this time it was by way of encouragement, and he at
once began a little prelude on the lute.

'You will sing better if you stand up,' he suggested.

She rose, took her own lute from her neck, and stood resting one hand on
the high back of her chair, turning her face from him; for she was
afraid, now that she had heard him. It was as bad as the worst
stage-fright; her tongue was paralysed, her limbs shook under her, she
shivered with cold in the sunshine, and her forehead was damp. Yet she
had not felt the slightest shyness a quarter of an hour earlier, when
she had first sung the piece.

'Sing with me,' he said quietly, and he began the song again.

Presently she took courage and the notes came, unsteadily at first, but
then true and clear; and Stradella's own voice died to a whisper, and
she went on alone, to the accompaniment he played.

'You see,' he said, as she paused, 'it is better to stand. Now I will
show you how to make one or two little improvements.'

So the lesson went on, and she conscientiously tried to do exactly what
he taught her; and their eyes met often, but that could not be helped,
for he showed h