g, and the music was
pretty, while the words were mystical. The first verse was as follows:--

"A flying cloud, a breaking wave,
A faint light in a moonless sky:
A voice that from the silent grave
Sounds sad in one long bitter cry.
I know not, sweet, where you may stand,
With shining eyes and golden hair,
Yet I know, I will touch your hand
And kiss your lips somewhere--
Somewhere! Somewhere!--
When the summer sun is fair,
Waiting me, on land or sea,
Somewhere, love, somewhere!"

The second verse was very similar to the first, and when Felix finished
a murmur of applause broke from every one of the ladies.

"How sweetly pretty," sighed Julia. "Such a lot in it."

"But what is its meaning?" asked Brian, rather bewildered.

"It hasn't got one," replied Felix, complacently. "Surely you don't
want every song to have a moral, like a book of Aesop's Fables?"

Brian shrugged his shoulders, and turned away with Madge.

"I must say I agree with Fitzgerald," said the doctor, quickly. "I like
as song with some meaning in it. The poetry of the one you sang is as
mystical as Browning, without any of his genius to redeem it."

"Philistine," murmured Felix, under his breath, and then vacated his
seat at the piano in favour of Julia, who was about to sing a ballad
called, "Going Down the Hill," which had been the rage in Melbourne
musical circles during the last two months.

Meanwhile Madge and Brian were walking up and down in the moonlight. It
was an exquisite night, with a cloudless blue sky glittering with the
stars, and a great yellow moon in the west. Madge seated herself on the
side of the marble ledge which girdled the still pool of water in front
of the house, and dipped her hand into the cool water. Brian leaned
against the trunk of a great magnolia tree, whose glossy green leaves
and great creamy blossoms looked fantastic in the moonlight. In front
of them was the house, with the ruddy lamplight streaming through the
wide windows, and they could see the guests within, excited by the
music, waltzing to Rolleston's playing, and their dark figures kept
passing and re-passing the windows while the charming music of the
waltz mingled with their merry laughter.

"Looks like a haunted house," said Brian, thinking of Poe's weird poem;
"but such a thing is impossible out here."

"I don't know so much about that," said Madge, gravely, lifting up some
water in the palm of her hand, and letting