"Still, keep the diadem as a gift, since it was made for you alone, and may yet be useful to you--who can know?
It is the price we pay for liberty to trade in your dominions.
Nay, unless you keep it my daughter shall not sing." "Let it lie there, then, most princely Merchant, and we will talk of the matter afterwards.

Now for the song." Then, her moment come at last, Tua stood up, and holding the ivory harp beneath her veil, she swept its golden chords.

Disguising her voice, as Asti had done, she began to sing, somewhat low, a short and gentle love-song, which soon came to an end.
"It is pretty," said Rames, when she had finished, "and reminds me of I know not what.

But have you no fuller music at your command?
If so, I would listen to it before I bid you good-night." She bent her head and answered almost in a whisper: "Lord, if you wish it, I will sing you the story of one who dared to set his heart too high, and of what befell him at the hands of an angry goddess." "Sing on," he answered.

"Once I heard such a story--elsewhere." Then Tua swept her harp and sang again, but this time with all her strength and soul.