aned forward, and Francis Ravenel was conscious
that the passion in the voice had nothing to do with his presence; that
it was the music alone of which she thought, and for the first time in
his life he touched the edge of the knowledge that _a great gift sets
its owner as a thing apart_.

"Sometime," he said, "when you have become famous, and all the world is
singing your praises, I shall say, 'Once she sang for me alone, at
twilight, under the beeches, in a far land,' and the people will take
off their hats to me, as to one who has had much honor."

He smiled as he spoke. It was the smile or the praise of the song, or a
cause too subtle to name, that changed her. She had already seemed an
indifferent woman, a great artist, a careless _Bohemienne_ in her
speech; but for the next change he was unprepared: it was a pleading
child with wistful eyes who seated herself beside him, not remotely
through any self-consciousness, but near to him, where speech could be
conveniently exchanged.

"Mr. Ravenel," she began, "I had thought to keep it from you, but you
are different--the _most_ different person I ever saw." A dimple came in
her cheek as she smiled. "And so I am going to tell you everything." She
made a little outward gesture of the hands, as though casting
discretion to the wind. "My father drinks. It began with his great
sorrow. It is not all the time, but frequently. I had hoped that down
here he would be better. He is not, and you will have to get another
overseer. It is not just to you to have my father in charge. Only I
think that perhaps such times as he is himself some work might be found
for him. It is so peaceful here; I do not want to go away."

"You shall not go away."

The words were spoken quietly, but for the first time in her life
Katrine Dulany felt there was some one of great power to whom she could
turn for help, and her woman heart thrilled at the words.

"You mustn't feel about it as you do, either," Frank continued. "The
time has gone by for thinking of your father's trouble as anything
except a disease--a disease which very frequently can be cured."

"Ah!" she cried, "do you think it would be possible?"

"I have known many cases. Is your father good to you?" he asked,
abruptly.

"Sick or well, with money or without, he is the kindest father in the
world. Save in one way, it is always _for_ me he thinks."

Her hand lay on the log. It was small and white, and she was very
beautiful. Frank