Instead of returning to the platform to bow, as ninety-nine singers in a hundred would have done, he seized hold of my hand.

“Come back with me,” he said; “ I am going to sing again.”             ,

And how he sang the second time ! I am not quite certain which song he repeated - he believed in them both. But so determined was he to give me my chance that he absolutely attacked the audience with the splendour of his singing, with the magnetism of his personality. It was like a tidal wave sweeping everything before it, and of course he carried the crowd away with him and won the day for me, for the song was received very differently the second time he sang it. I remember perfectly well feeling half frightened at the idea of going back to face that multitude of people whose applause, I thought, in no way justified my reappearance at all events. But of course I did as I was told. On 

how frail a thread one’s fate sometimes hangs ! And how one remembers, how gratefully one remembers the hand that might have snapped it so easily, but that wove it into something strong and durable by a beautiful and generous impulse !