The little group of friendly listeners were rapt in the deepest attention; and when I ceased, a murmur of admiration broke from them all, while Zara's eyes glistened with sympathetic tears.
"How can you do it ?" asked Mrs.Challoner in good-natured amazement.
"It seems to me impossible to compose like that while seated at the piano, and without taking previous thought!" "It is not MY doing," I began; "it seems to come to me from--" But I was checked by a look from Zara, that gently warned me not to hastily betray the secret of my spiritual communion with the unseen sources of harmony.

So I smiled and said no more.

Inwardly I was full of a great rejoicing, for I knew that however well I had played in past days, it was nothing compared to the vigour and ease which were now given to me--a sort of unlocking of the storehouse of music, with freedom to take my choice of all its vast treasures.
"Well, it's what WE call inspiration," said Mr.Challoner, giving my hand a friendly grasp; "and wherever it comes from, it must be a great happiness to yourself as well as to others." "It is," I answered earnestly.

"I believe few are so perfectly happy in music as I am." Mrs.Everard looked thoughtful.
"No amount of practice could make ME play like that," she said; "yet I have had two or three masters who were supposed to be first-rate.

One of them was a German, who used to clutch his hair like a walking tragedian whenever I played a wrong note.