She wore a black evening gown of soft material, with old lace at her bosom and one string of pearls round her neck.
When she appeared, the audience gazed at her and applauded doubtfully.
Velma's name on the programme had raised great expectations; and here was Miss Champion, who certainly played very nicely, but was not supposed to be able to sing, volunteering to sing Velma's song.

A more kindly audience would have cheered her to the echo, voicing its generous appreciation of her effort, and sanguine expectation of her success.

This audience expressed its astonishment, in the dubiousness of its faint applause.
Jane smiled at them good-naturedly; sat down at the piano, a Bechstein grand; glanced at the festoons of white roses and the cross of crimson ramblers; then, without further preliminaries, struck the opening chord and commenced to sing.
The deep, perfect voice thrilled through the room.
A sudden breathless hush fell upon the audience.
Each syllable penetrated the silence, borne on a tone so tender and so amazingly sweet, that casual hearts stood still and marvelled at their own emotion; and those who felt deeply already, responded with a yet deeper thrill to the magic of that music.
"The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, Are as a string of pearls to me; I count them over, ev'ry one apart, My rosary,--my rosary." Softly, thoughtfully, tenderly, the last two words were breathed into the silence, holding a world of reminiscence--a large-hearted woman's faithful remembrance of tender moments in the past.
The listening crowd held its breath.

This was not a song.

This was the throbbing of a heart; and it throbbed in tones of such sweetness, that tears started unbidden.
Then the voice, which had rendered the opening lines so quietly, rose in a rapid crescendo of quivering pain.
"Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, To still a heart in absence wrung; I tell each bead unto the end, and there-- A cross is hung!" The last four words were given with a sudden power and passion which electrified the assembly.