"I think you are not strong enough yet to
indulge in composition. You have grown too fast, and creation needs a
great deal of physical vigour. Now run to bed, and forget that you can
play a note."
Angelica sipped the wine obediently, and bade him good night. As she
toiled up the stairs she prayed for the physical strength that would
permit her to become the great musician of her ambitious dreams. Her
prayer was answered; the great strength came to her, and her music was
the wonder of those who listened; but they were very few.
Hamilton went into his library, prepared to write until morning.
Bitterness and cosmic curiosity had vanished; he was the practical man,
with a mass of affairs to arrange during the few days that were left to
him. But he did no work that night. The door-knocker pounded loudly. The
servants had gone to bed. He took a lamp, and unchained and unlocked the
front door, wondering what the summons meant, for visitors in that
lonely spot were rare after nightfall. A woman stood in the heavy shade
of the porch, and behind her was a carriage.
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