with
Mrs. Macready. This tour was quite a successful one for Camilla and it
finally ended in Nashville, Tenn., where the party separated.

PART II.

CHAPTER I.

INTO EACH LIFE SOME RAIN MUST FALL.

At the close of her tour with Mrs. Macready in 1855 Mademoiselle Urso
left the concert stage, gave up playing in public and retired to private
life in Nashville, Tenn., only appearing at occasional charity concerts.
Seven years later, in the Autumn of 1862, she returned to New York
prepared to resume her artist-life. The musical world remembered with
respect and admiration the Camilla Urso of her brilliant girlhood. The
wonderful child-life had ended. The new artist-life now begins. Once
more the swift fingers might fly over the mystic strings. Again the bow
arm wield its magic wand.

Could they? Would the art come back after seven years of almost total
neglect? Would the woman fulfill the promise of the child? She could not
tell. It seemed a life-time since she had played in public. It was a
doubtful experiment. She would not hesitate nor be afraid. She would try
again.

"Father, I have come home."

Father, mother, daughter and dear aunt once more reunited. It was an
humble home in the midst of the great city. It was home and that was
enough.

"What now, my daughter?"

"Music, father. My violin. Give it me once more."

Once more the violin is placed on the young shoulder and the bow is laid
with caressing touch upon the beloved strings. Ten and often fifteen
hours a day incessant practice. No rigid Massart to watch every note. No
father to sit by to guide and help. Alone with her violin. She would
have no master now. She would be her own master. Her genius should be
her guide.

Again the long, slow notes. Again the patient finger exercises. From the
almost forgotten years she recalled the lessons of the Conservatory and
the instructions of dear old Felix Simon, at sunny Nantes. He was at
hand and lived in New York. He might help her. No, she did not wish it.
She refused even her father's aid. She knew herself now. Times had
changed since those old days in Nantes. Music had changed. Violin
playing had changed. She could not tell exactly how or why, but she felt
sure it must be so. If she was to succeed she must come up with the
level of the age. The standard of musical taste had changed during the
seven years of blank in her artist life. The playing of the
"wonder-child" would no longer please t