A tumult followed, and Gretchen started up from her reverie, and heard among the restless murmurs the name of Mrs.Woods.
She felt a nervous terror for a moment, but her spiritual sense and faith, which had come to her like a new-born life, returned to her.
She arose on the platform and took her violin, and looked down upon the sea of dusky faces in the smoky moonlight.

She drew her bow.

The music quivered.

There was a lull in the excited voices.

She played low, and there followed a silence.
The old chief came heavily up on the platform with a troubled face and stood beside her.
"Play the beautiful air." She played the _Traumerei_ again.
The chief arose, as the last strain died away, and said: "My people, listen." The plateau was silent.