ice near me, "seeing
that her father made all his money in wool."

In rapid succession came several other singers, all of whom appeared to
impress the audience favorably. My heart was beginning to thump again in
my breast, for the moment was approaching and I suffered from a
vicarious stage-fright that could have been no greater had I myself been
sentenced to appear upon the stage. It may be that the hall was
overheated; at any rate I had to pass my handkerchief a number of times
over my forehead, and my high collar began to choke me. I was grasping
Porter's arm, convulsively, when, all of a sudden, before I could
realize that the moment had come, she stood before the footlights,
bowing before the moderate clapping of hands, and Richetti himself sat
at the piano.

"Great Scott!" said the wide-shouldered young man, "ain't she a
stunner!"

His companion replied something, but I did not listen. Richetti was
playing a few preliminary bars of the melody. I saw her eyes moving
confidently over the orchestra seats and thought she recognized us with
a nearly imperceptible accentuation of her smile. She was holding the
sheets of music before her, but in them I could not detect the slightest
trace of tremor. Then, her gaze was uplifted a little and the song
began, while all sense of fear left me and I breathed easily, leaning
forward eagerly while each note entered my soul. It was Mendelssohn's
"On Wings of Song." It seemed to me that the silence urbanely granted to
the other singers became more profound. The audience was surely holding
its breath. Not a stir of programmes sounded. Faces were no longer
expressing tolerant civility, for they had become intent and fervent.
Something like the awed respect of a great churchly crowd filled the
hall and was maintained till the very last note, after which came a very
storm of applause, delirious, impulsive, unrestrained for the longest
time, while she bowed again and again, and Richetti stood up beside her
for his share of the triumph.

And after this she gave us "Chantez, Riez" of Gounod, and the gorgeous
swing of it was uplifting, and the wonderful tone lent it greatness and
the lilt of it a true significance of the joy of living. As a further
encore she sang Rossini's "Stabat Mater." Her voice broke into the
passion of grief of the mother bereft, in the grandeur of the hope
eternal, and the people were hushed, breathless, conquered.

At last she was allowed to leave the stage,