Part 43 (1/2)

She did not draw her hand away She smiled across to me ever so sweetly and turned from me into the darkness

Not for an hour did I wake from my reveries The spell of new influences was upon ht-clouds, never seelow and silver streaks on the water never so beautiful

A light travelled across the parlour over the way I saw Miss Grant seat herself by the piano, and soon the whole air becaed with the softest, sweetest cadences,--elusive, faint and fairylike

How I enjoyed them! How old Jake on the cliffs must have enjoyed them!

What an artist the lady was, and how she excelled herself that evening!

I lay in a transport of pleasure, hoping that the ,--it whispered and died away, leaving behind it only the stillness of the night, the sighing of the wind in the tops of the tall creaking firs, the chirping of the crickets under the stones and the call of the night bird to her e

In the laure of the musician She was seated on the piano stool, with her hands clasped in front of her and gazing out through theinto the darkness of the night

Surely it was a night when hypnotising influences were at ith all of us, for I had not yet seen Jake return; he was evidently still so with the spirits that were in the air

Suddenly I observed a movement in the room over the way

Miss Grant had roused herself froers I had kissed to her own lips Then she kissed both her hands to the outside world She lowered the light of the laloas visible

She ran her fingers over the piano keys in a ripple of si I caught the lilt of the :--

A maid there was in the North Coun-tree, A shy lit-tle, sweet lit-tle hed for she knew-not-who, So long as he loved her ten-der-lee; And day by day as the long-ing grow, Her spin-ning-wheel whirred and the threads wove through

It whirred, It whirred, It whirred and the threads wove through

[Illustration: Song fragay little, blythe little ht ca and so tenderlee

And, day by day, as their fond love grew, Her spinning wheel stood with its threads askew; It stood--It stood--It stood with its threads askew

A maid there was in the North Countree; A sad little, lone little ht seemed fickle and all untrue As he rode to war at the drurew, Her spinning wheel groaned and the threads wove through

It groaned--It groaned--It groaned and the threads wove through

A lad little loith a rosy hue, For her knight proved true, as good knights should be

And, day by day, as their vows renew, Her spinning wheel purrs and the threads weave through; It purrs--It purrs--It purrs and the threads weave through

Why she had not sung before, I could not understand, for a voice such as she had was a gift from heaven, and it was sinful to keep it hidden away It betrayed training, but only in a slight degree; not sufficient to have spoiled the bewitching, vagrant plaintiveness which it possessed; an inexpressible allureers never, for the rigours of the training steal away that peculiar charreat city does the bloom from the cheek of a countrywhich I knew should follow, but the singer's voice was still and the faint glow of the lauished

CHAPTER XIX