unity of hearing that sweet voice. She did, as Miss Carlyle
confessed to have done, pushed open the door between the two rooms, and
looked in. It was the twilight hour, almost too dusk to see; but she
could distinguish Isabel seated at the piano, and Mr. Carlyle standing
behind her. She was singing one of the ballads from the opera of the
"Bohemian Girl," "When other Lips."

"Why do you like that song so much, Archibald?" she asked when she had
finished it.

"I don't know. I never liked it so much until I heard it from you."

"I wonder if they are come in. Shall we go into the next room?"

"Just this one first--this translation from the German--' 'Twere vain to
tell thee all I feel.' There's real music in that song."

"Yes, there is. Do you know, Archibald, your taste is just like papa's.
He liked all these quiet, imaginative songs, and so do you. And so do
I," she laughingly added, "if I must speak the truth."

She ceased and began the song, singing it exquisitely, in a low, sweet,
earnest tone, the chords of the accompaniment, at its conclusion, dying
off gradually into silence.

"There, Archibald, I am sure I have sung you ten songs at least," she
said, leaning her head back against him, and looking at him from her
upturned face. "You ought to pay me."

He did pay her: holding the dear face to him, and taking from it some
impassioned kisses. Barbara turned to the window, a low moan of pain
escaping her, as she pressed her forehead on one of its panes, and
looked forth at the dusky night. Isabel came in on her husband's arm.

"Are you here alone, Miss Hare? I really beg your pardon. I supposed you
were with Miss Carlyle."

"Where is Cornelia, Barbara?"

"I have just come in," was Barbara's reply. "I dare say she is following
me."

So she was, for she entered a moment after, her voice raised in anger
at the gardener, who had disobeyed her orders, and obeyed the wishes of
Lady Isabel.

The evening wore on to ten, and as the time-piece struck the hour,
Barbara rose from her chair in amazement.

"I did not think it was so late. Surely some one must have come for me."

"I will inquire," was Lady Isabel's answer, and Mr. Carlyle touched the
bell. No one had come for Miss Hare.

"Then I fear I must trouble Peter," cried Barbara. "Mamma may be gone to
rest, tired, and papa must have forgotten me. It would never do for me
to get locked out," she gaily added.

"As you were one night before," said Mr. Carlyl