ed to the piano by Ernest. What a
contrast she presented to the soft, retiring, ethereal Edith, whose
every motion suggested the idea of music! Though her arm was linked in
that of Ernest, she walked independently of him, dashing through the
company with a brave, military air, and taking a seat as if a flourish
of trumpets had heralded her approach. At first I was startled by the
loud crash of the keys, as she threw her hands upon them with all her
force, laughing at the wild dissonance of the sound; but as she
continued, harmony, if not sweetness, rose out of the chaos. She
evidently understood the science of music, and enjoyed it too. She did
not sing, and while she was playing the most brilliant polkas, waltzes,
and variations with the most wonderful execution, she talked and laughed
with those around the instrument, or looked round the apartment, and
nodded to this one and that, her great black eyes flashing like chain
lightning. Her playing seemed to have a magical effect. No one could
keep their feet still. Even the dignified president patted his, marking
the measure of her prancing fingers. I could have danced wildly myself,
for I never heard any thing so inspiring to the animal spirits as those
wizard strains. Every countenance was lighted with animation, save one,
and that was Ernest's. He stood immovable, pale, cold, and
self-involved, like a being from another sphere. I remembered how
differently he looked when he wooed me to the garden's moonlight walks,
and how the warm and gentle thoughts that then beamed in his eyes seemed
frozen and dead, and I wondered if they were extinguished forever.

"How stupid!" exclaimed Miss Melville, suddenly stopping, and turning
round on the pivot of the music stool till she commanded a full view of
the drawing-room. "I thought you would all be dancing by this time.
There is no use in playing to such inanimate mortals. And you," said
she, suddenly turning to Ernest, "you remind me of the prince, the
enchanted prince in the Arabian Nights, only he was half marble, you are
a whole statue. You do not like music. I pity you."

"I have my own peculiar tastes," he answered quietly; "some nerves are
more delicately strung than others."

"Do you imply that _my_ playing is too loud for delicate nerves? Why,
that is nothing to what I can do. That is my company music. When I am at
home I give full scope to my powers."

"We are perfectly satisfied with the specimen we have heard," sai