lonely for so youthful a lady?"

"I have the children, sir."

"I often hear their cheerful voices."

"I hope we do not disturb you, sir, I strive to restrain them, but I
fear we are all thoughtless."

"Nay, the innocent sounds of mirth ring sweetly on my ears, like the
notes of birds. And when I have heard a charming voice singing to the
little ones, I have listened with delight. Would it be too presumptuous
to beg the air songstress to repeat her song for the old recluse?"

"O, sir, I have only nursery ditties, caught from our old German maid,"
cried Aurelia, in dismay.

"That might not diminish the charm to me," he said. "In especial there
was one song whose notes Jumbo caught as you accompanied yourself on the
spinnet."

And Jumbo, who seemed able to see in the dark, played a bar on his
violin, while Aurelia trembled with shyness.

"The Nightingale Song," she said. "My dear mother learnt the tune
abroad. And I believe that she herself made the English words, when she
was asked what the nightingales say."

"May I hear it? Nightingales can sing in the dark." Refusal was
impossible, and Jumbo's violin was a far more effective accompaniment
than her own very moderate performance on the spinnet; so in a sweet,
soft, pure, untrained and trembling voice, she sang--

"O Life and Light are sweet, my dear, O life and Light are sweet;
But sweeter still the hope and cheer
When Love and Life shall meet.
Oh! then it is most sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet.

"But Love puts on the yoke, my dear, But Love puts on the yoke;
The dart of Love calls forth the tear,
As though the heart were broke.
The very heart were broke, broke, broke, broke, broke, broke.

"And Love can quench Life's Light, my dear, Drear, dark, and melancholy;
Seek Light and Life and jocund cheer,
And mirth and pleasing folly.
Be thine, light-hearted folly, folly, folly, folly, folly, folly.

"'Nay, nay,' she sang. 'yoke, pain, and tear,
For Love I gladly greet;
Light, Life, and Mirth are nothing here,
Without Love's bitter sweet.
Give me Love's bitter sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet.'"

"Accept my fervent thanks, kind songstress. So that is the nightingale's
song, and your honoured mother's?"

"Yes, sir. My father often makes us sing it because it reminds him of
her."

"Philomel could not have found a better interpreter," said the grave
voice, sounding so sad that Aurelia wish