Oh! what a lovely night it is; look at the full moon shining on the sea and snow.

I never remember her so bright; and the stars, too; they glitter like great diamonds." "It is the frost," answered Morris.

"Yes, everything is beautiful to-night." Stella took the violin, played a note or two, then screwed up the strings to her liking.
"Do you really wish me to sing, Mr.Monk ?" she asked.
"Of course; more than I can tell you." "Then, will you think me very odd if I ask you to turn out the electric lamps?
I can sing best so.

You stand by the fire, so that I can see my audience; the moon through this window will give me all the light I want." He obeyed, and now she was but an ethereal figure, with a patch of red at her heart, and a line of glimmering white from the silver girdle beneath her breast, on whose pale face the moonbeams poured sweetly.
For a while she stood thus, and the silence was heavy in that beautiful, dismantled place of prayer.

Then she lifted the violin, and from the first touch of the bow Morris knew that he was in the presence of a mistress of one of the most entrancing of the arts.