nd
even in subsequent scenes, when the recollection of being a performer
returned upon her, her inward excitation seemed to float her onward,
like a great wave.

Once again her own feelings took her up, like a tornado, and made her
seem a wonderful actress. In the scene where Norma is tempted to kill
her children, she fixed her indignant gaze full upon Fitzgerald, and
there was an indescribable expression of stern resolution in her
voice, and of pride in the carriage of her queenly head, while she
sang: "Disgrace worse than death awaits them. Slavery? No! never!"

Fitzgerald quailed before it. He grew pale, and slunk back in the
box. The audience had never seen the part so conceived, and a few
criticised it. But her beauty and her voice and her overflowing
feeling carried all before her; and this, also, was accepted as a
remarkable inspiration of theatrical genius.

When the wave of her own excitement was subsiding, the magnetism of an
admiring audience began to affect her strongly. With an outburst of
fury, she sang, "War! War!" The audience cried, "_Bis! Bis_!" and she
sang it as powerfully the second time.

What it was that had sustained and carried her through that terrible
ordeal, she could never understand.

When the curtain dropped, Fitzgerald was about to rush after her; but
his wife caught his arm, and he was obliged to follow. It was an awful
penance he underwent, submitting to this necessary restraint; and
while his soul was seething like a boiling caldron, he was obliged to
answer evasively to Lily's frequent declaration that the superb voice
of this Spanish _prima donna_ was exactly like the wonderful voice
that went wandering round the plantation, like a restless ghost.

Papa and Mamma Balbino were waiting to receive the triumphant
_cantatrice_, as she left the stage. "_Brava! Brava_!" shouted the
Signor, in a great fever of excitement; but seeing how pale she
looked, he pressed her hand in silence, while Madame wrapped her in
shawls. They lifted her into the carriage as quickly as possible,
where her head drooped almost fainting on Madame's shoulder. It
required them both to support her unsteady steps, as they mounted the
stairs to their lofty lodging. She told them nothing that night of
having seen Fitzgerald; and, refusing all refreshment save a sip of
wine, she sank on the bed utterly exhausted.

CHAPTER XX.

She slept late the next day, and woke with a feeling of utter
weariness of