ove for Sybella, but on few other points. And curious was the
revelation their love had. For they were worldly men, absorbed in
various ways by the world, and Sybella lived alone here, as she said,
though the house was the home of all; for one was now abroad, and one
was in the army, and one was--who knew where?

In the drawing-room it was about the piano that the evidences of real
life and actual enjoyment were gathered. Flowers filled a dozen vases
grouped on tables, ornamenting brackets, flower-stands, and pedestals of
various kinds. The grand piano seemed the base of a glowing and fragrant
pyramid; and there, it was easy to see, musical studies by day and by
night went on.

Straight toward the piano both ladies went.

"Now, for once," said the organist.

Sybella stood a moment doubting, then she turned to a book-rack and
began to look over some loose sheets of music. Presently desisting, she
came back. One steady purpose had been in her mind all the while. She
now sat down and produced from the piano what the organist had
astonished her by executing in the church. But it seemed a variation.

The work of a moment? an effort of memory? a wonderful recall of what
she had just now heard? The organist did not imagine such a thing. There
was, there could be, only one solution to anything so mysterious. She
came nearer to Sybella; invisible arms of succor seemed flung about the
girl, who played as she had never played before,--as weeping mortals
smile, when they are safe in heaven.

When she had finished, many minutes passed before either spoke a word.
At last Sybella said,--

"He told me there was no written copy of this thing he could secure for
me, but that I must have it; so he wrote it from memory, and I
elaborated the idea I had from his description, making some mistakes, I
find. I am speaking," she added, with a resolution so determined that it
had almost the sound of defiance,--"I am speaking of Adam von Gelhorn."

"When was this?"

"In our last days."

"He is dead, then?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Three years."

Whether the organist remained here after this, or if other words were
added to these by the hostess or the guest, there is no report. But I
can imagine that in such an hour, even between these two, little could
be said. Yesterday I saw on a monument a little bird perched, quite
content, and still, so far as song went, as the dead beneath him and
around me. He was throbbing from far flight;