st, and she meant to give
me opportunities for talking to him in the parlor too.

"A dreary evening, is it not?" she began. "What shall we all do?
Charlotte, can't you think of something?"

Charlotte, who had her own plans for a quiet evening by the lamp with a
new book, of course could not think of anything.

"Henrietta, at least you shall give us some music, and Mr. Langenau, I
am sure you will be good enough to help us; I will send over to the
school-room for that flute and those piles of music that I've seen upon
a shelf, and you will be charitable enough to play for us."

"I must beg you will not take that trouble."

"Oh, Mr. Langenau, that is selfish now."

Mrs. Hollenbeck did not press the subject then, but made herself
thoroughly delightful during tea, and as we rose from the table renewed
the request in a low tone to Mr. Langenau: and the result was, a little
after eight o'clock he came into the parlor where we sat. A place was
made for him at the table around which we were sitting, and Mrs.
Hollenbeck began the process of putting him at his ease. There was no
need. The tutor was quite as much at ease as any one, and, in a little
while, imperceptibly became the person to whom we were all listening.

Charlotte Benson at last gave up her book, and took her work-box
instead. We were no longer moping and dull around the table. And bye and
bye Henrietta, much alarmed, was sent to the piano, and her poor little
music certainly sounded very meagre when Mr. Langenau touched the keys.

I think he consented to play not to appear rude, but with the firm
intention of not being the instrument of our entertainment, and not
being made use of out of his own accepted calling. But happily for us,
he soon forgot all about us, and played on, absorbed in himself and in
his music. We listened breathlessly, the others quite as much engrossed
as I, because they all knew much more of music than I did. Suddenly,
after playing for a long while, he started from the piano, and came back
to the table. He was evidently agitated. Before the others could say a
word of thanks or wonder, I cried, in a fear of the cessation of what
gave me such intense pleasure,

"Oh, sing something; can't you sing?"

"Yes, I can sing," he said, looking down at me with those dangerous
eyes. "Will it give you pleasure if I sing for you?"

He did not wait for an answer, but turned back to the piano.

He had said "if I sing for you," and I knew that for