too early?" she asked,--for her welcome was not immediate, and her
courtesy was not just now of the quality that overlooked a seeming lack
of it in others. Miss Ives was slightly out of tune.

"Not at all," was the answer. Still it was spoken in a very preoccupied
way that might have been provoking,--that would depend on the mood of
the person addressed; and that mood, as we know, was not sun-clear or
marble-smooth. The organist had now found the music she was looking for,
and proceeded to play it from the first page to the last, without
vouchsafing an instant's recognition of the singer's presence.

When she had finished, she sat a moment silent; then she turned straight
toward Miss Ives, and smiled, and it was a smile that could atone for
any amount of seeming incivility.

But not even David, by mere sweep of harp-string, soothed
self-beleaguered Saul.

Teacher and pupil did not seem to understand each other as it was best
such women should. For, let the swaying, surging hosts throughout the
valley deliver themselves as they can from the confusion of tongues, the
wanderers among the mountains _ought_ to understand the signals _they_
see flaring from crag and gorge and pinnacle.

Too many shadowy folds were in the mystery that hung about each of these
women to satisfy the other: reticence too cold, independence too
extreme, self-possession too entire. Why was neither summoned, in a
frank, impulsive way, to take up the burden of the other? Was nothing
ever to penetrate the seven-walled solitude in which the organist chose
to intrench herself? Was nobody ever to bid roses bloom on the colorless
face of the singer, and bring smiles, the veritable smiles of youth, and
of happiness, into those large, steady, joyless eyes?

But now, while the organist played, and Sybella sat down, supposing she
was not wanted yet, she found herself not withdrawn into the
indifference she supposed. Presently far more was given than she either
looked for or desired.

The music that was being played was indeed wonderful. This was not for
the delight of children: no happy sprite with dancing feet could
maintain this measure. It was music for the most advanced, enlightened
intelligence,--for the soul that music had quickened to far depths,--for
the heart that had suffered, triumphed, and gained the kingdom of
calm,--for a wisdom riper even than Sybella's.

An audience of a hundred souls would infallibly have gabbled their way
through the