There came into these silent and reverie-haunted solitudes a letter from the distant and turbulent world without; and of a sudden Lionel felt himself transported back into the theatre again, in the midst of all its struggles and hopes and anxieties, its jealousies and triumphs, its ceaseless clamor and unrest.  The letter was from Nina.

“MY DEAR FRIEND LEO,—­I have waited now some time that I send you the critiques of my new part, but the great morning newspapers have taken no notice of poor Nina, it is only some of the weekly papers that have observed the change in the part, and you will see that they are very kind to me.  Ah, but one—­I do not send it—­I could not send it to you, Leo—­it has made me cry much and much that any one should have such malignity, such meanness, such lying.  I forget all the other ones? that one stabs my heart? but Mr. Carey he laughs and says to me You are foolish? you do not know why that is said of you?  He is a great ally of Miss Burgoyne, he does not like to see you take her place and be well received by the public.  Perhaps it is true; but, Leo, you do not like to be told that you make the part stupid, that there is no life in it, that you are a machine, that you sing out of tune.  I have asked Mr. Lehmann, I have asked Mr. Carey, and said to them If it is true, let me go?  I will not make ridicule of your theatre.  But they are so kind to me; and Mrs. Grey also; she says that I have not as much cheek as Miss Burgoyne, but that Grace Mainwaring should remember that she is a gentlewoman, and it is not necessary to make her a laughing waitress, although she is in comedy-opera.  I cannot please every one, Leo; but if you were here I should not care so much for the briccone who lies, who lies, who hides in the dark, like a thief.  You know whether I sing out of tune, Leo.  You know whether I am so stupid, so very stupid.  Yes, I may not have cheek; I wish not to have cheek; even to commend myself to a critic.  Ah, well, it is no use to be angry; every night I have a reception that you would like to hear, Leo, for you have no jealousy; and my heart says those people are not under bad influence; they are honest in saying they are pleased; to them I sing not out of tune, and am not so very stupid.  If I lie awake at night, and cry much, it is then I say to myself that I am stupid; and the next morning I laugh, when Mrs. Grey says some kind thing to me.

“Will you be surprised, most excellent Signor, if you have a visit from Miss Burgoyne?  Yes, it is possible.  The doctor says she has strained her voice by too long work—­but it was a little reedy of its own nature, do you not think, Leo?—­and says she must have entire rest, and that she must go to the Isle of White; but she said every one was going to Scotland, and why not she, and her two friends, her travelling companions.  Then she comes to me