at the right hand of God the Father!"_

Had this girl the vision--"Not far from any one of us"?

"I thought so," said the organist. "You come forth at last. This is what
I expected, when I overheard you instructing the children in the
Sunday-school. Now all that is justified, but you have been a long while
about it,--or I have. It seems the right chord wasn't struck. I made
these adaptations on purpose for the voice I expected of you."

"Is not the arrangement a new one, Mrs. Edgar?" asked a voice from one
of the aisles. "It is perfect."

"It is a new adaptation, Mr. Muir, and I think Miss Ives will hardly
improve on her first rendering. It is getting late also. It is time to
look at the hymn."

Mr. Muir, who was the rector of the church, now passed along the aisle
until he was beyond the voices of the ladies in the choir, and then he
stood, during the rehearsal of the Easter hymn,--

"Christ the Lord is risen to-day."

One repetition of these verses, and the rehearsal was at an end. Never
was such before in that place. Never before in reality had organist of
St. Peter's attempted so much. When the choir came together for an
hour's practice, this would be understood. Miss Ives already understood
it.

"Now indulge _me_," she said, "if I have been so fortunate as to
satisfy--satisfy you."

In consequence of this request the organist kept her place till night
had actually descended. Out of all oratorios, and from many an opera,
she brought the immortal graces, and all conceivable renderings of
passions, fears, and aspirations of men. At last, and as it seemed quite
suddenly, she broke off, closed the organ-doors and locked them, then
rose from her place.

A dark figure at the same moment passed up the aisle from the church to
the vestry-room in the rear, and organist and singer left the church.

III.

"I believe," said Sybella, as they went, venturing now, while aglow with
the music, on what heretofore had been forbidden ground to her,--"I
believe, if you would sing, I should be struck dumb, just as now, when
you play, I feel as if I could do anything in song. Why do you never
show me how a thing should be done by singing it? I've had teachers with
voices hoarse as crows', who did it; and I profited, for I understood
better what they meant. It seems to me to be the natural impulse, and I
don't know how you control it; for of course you do control it."

That was a venture, felt in all its venturesomene