on, was then

to be heard on the London stage. It happened this evening that the sentiment of these airs, Che faro senza Eurydice? and Ho perduto il bel sembiante, in both of which the singer pours out his yearning after his lost love, came very close to Caterina's own feeling. But her emotion, instead of being a hindrance to her singing, gave her additional power. Her singing was what she could do best; it was her one point of superiority, in which it was probable she would excel the highborn beauty whom Anthony was to woo; and her love, her jealousy, her pride, her rebellion against her destiny, made one stream of passion which welled forth in the deep rich tones of her voice. She had a rare contralto, which Lady Cheverel, who had high musical taste, had been careful to preserve her from straining.

'Excellent, Caterina,' said Lady Cheverel, as there was a pause after the wonderful linked sweetness of Che faro. 'I never heard you sing that so well. Once more!'

It was repeated; and then came, 'Ho perduto', which Sir Christopher encored, in spite of the clock, just striking nine. When the last note was dying out he said—'