e she is good, and I am wicked,' returned Phoebe sullenly. 'I cannot
help it, doctor: it is one of my bad days, and nothing but wicked words
come uppermost. The devil has a deal of power when a woman is chained as
I am.'

'Don't you think you could exorcise the demon by a song, Miss Garston?'
observed Mr. Hamilton, in an undertone. 'This is just the case where
music may be a soothing influence; something must be tried for the poor
creature.'

The proposition almost took away my breath. Sing now! before Mr.
Hamilton! And yet how in sheer humanity could I refuse? I had often sung
before to my patients, and had never minded it in the least; but before
Mr. Hamilton!

'You need not think of me,' he continued provokingly,--for of course I
was thinking of him: 'I am no critic in the musical line. Just try how it
answers, will you?' And he walked away and turned his back to us, and
seemed absorbed in the sampler.

For one minute I hesitated, and then I cleared my throat. 'I am going to
sing something, Phoebe. Mr. Hamilton thinks it will do you good.' And
then, fearful lest her waywardness should stop me, I commenced at once
with the first line of the beautiful hymn, 'Art thou weary? art thou
languid?'

My voice trembled sadly at first, and my burning face and cold hands
testified to my nervousness; but after the first verse I forgot Mr.
Hamilton's presence and only remembered it was Charlie's favourite hymn
I was singing, and sang it with a full heart.

When I had finished, I bent over Phoebe and asked if I should sing any
more, and, to my great delight, she nodded assent. I sang 'Abide with
me,' and several other suitable hymns, and I did not stop until the hard
look of woe in Phoebe's eyes had softened into a more gentle expression.

As I paused, I looked across the room. Mr. Hamilton was still standing by
the mantelpiece, perfectly motionless. He had covered his eyes with his
hand, and seemed lost in profound thought. He absolutely started when I
addressed him.

'Yes, we will go if you have finished,' but he did not look at me as he
spoke. 'Phoebe, has the young lady done you any good? Did you close your
eyes and think you heard an angel singing? Now you must let me take her
away, for she is very tired, and has worked hard to-day. To-morrow, if
you ask her, she will come again.'

'I shall not wait to be asked,' I returned, answering the dumb, wistful
look that greeted the doctor's words. 'Oh yes, I shall come agai