e," he said. "If my memory is true, you too played the
piano when you--when I was young."

"It is the same piano, Henry, and, like our life here, somewhat thin
and weak of tone. But if you think it would give you pleasure, I will
play--as well as I know how."

She readjusted the veil, which had slipped from her mother's face, and
they went into the parlour. From a pile of time-stained music she
selected a sheet and seated herself at the piano. The colonel stood at
her elbow. She had a pretty back, he thought, and a still youthful
turn of the head, and still plentiful, glossy brown hair. Her hands
were white, slender and well kept, though he saw on the side of the
forefinger of her left hand the telltale marks of the needle.

The piece was an arrangement of the well-known air from the opera of
_Maritana_:

_"Scenes that are brightest,
May charm awhile,
Hearts which are lightest
And eyes that smile.
Yet o'er them above us,
Though nature beam,
With none to love us,
How sad they seem!"_

Under her sympathetic touch a gentle stream of melody flowed from the
old-time piano, scarcely stronger toned in its decrepitude, than the
spinet of a former century. A few moments before, under Graciella's
vigorous hands, it had seemed to protest at the dissonances it had
been compelled to emit; now it seemed to breathe the notes of the old
opera with an almost human love and tenderness. It, too, mused the
colonel, had lived and loved and was recalling the memories of a
brighter past.

The music died into silence. Mrs. Treadwell was awake.

"Laura!" she called.

Miss Treadwell went to the door.

"I must have been nodding for a minute. I hope Colonel French did not
observe it--it would scarcely seem polite. He hasn't gone yet?"

"No, mother, he is in the parlour."

"I must be going," said the colonel, who came to the door. "I had
almost forgotten Phil, and it is long past his bedtime."

Miss Laura went to wake up Phil, who had fallen asleep after supper.
He was still rubbing his eyes when the lady led him out.

"Wake up, Phil," said the colonel. "It's time to be going. Tell the
ladies good night."

Graciella came running up the walk.

"Why, Colonel French," she cried, "you are not going already? I made
the others leave early so that I might talk to you."

"My dear young lady," smiled the colonel, "I have already risen to go,
and if I stayed longer I might wear out my welcome,