h a very modern-looking
guitar-case, and, opening the box, presented his master with the
instrument, which, as Isaacs took it to the light in the door of the
tent to see if it had travelled safely, appeared to be a perfectly new
German guitar. I suspected him of having purchased it at the little
music shop at Simla, for the especial amusement of our party.

"I thought it was a lute you played on," said Miss Westonhaugh, "a real,
lovely, ancient Assyrian lute, or something of that kind."

"Oh, a plain guitar is infinitely better and less troublesome," said
Isaacs as he returned to his seat in the dark and began to tune the
strings softly. "It takes so long to tune one of those old things, and
then nothing will make them stand. Now this one, you see,--or rather you
cannot see,--has an ingenious contrivance of screws by which you may
tune it in a moment." While he was speaking he was altering the pitch of
the strings, and presently he added, "There, it is done now," and two or
three sounding chords fell on the still air. "Now what shall I sing? I
await your commands."

"Something soft, and sweet, and gentle."

"A love-song?" asked he quietly.

"Well yes--a love-song if you like. Why not?" said she.

"No reason in the world that I can think of," I remarked. Whereat Lord
Steepleton Kildare threw his cigar away, and began lighting another a
moment after, as if he had discarded his weed by mistake.

Isaacs struck a few chords softly, and then began a sort of running
accompaniment. His voice, which seemed to me to be very high, was
wonderfully smooth and round, and produced the impression of being much
more powerful than he cared to show. He sang without the least effort,
and yet there was none of that effeminate character that I have noticed
in European male singers when producing high notes very softly. I do not
understand music, but I am sure I never heard an opera tenor with a
voice of such quality. The words of his song were Persian, and the pure
accents of his native tongue seemed well suited to the half passionate,
half plaintive air he had chosen. I afterwards found a translation of
the sonnet by an English officer, which I here give, though it conveys
little idea of the music of the original verse.

Last night, my eyes being closed in sleep, but my good fortune awake,
The whole night, the livelong night, the image of my beloved one was the
companion of my soul.
The sweetness of her melodious vo