f she would favor them with a
song. She rose from her seat instantly, without any affected hesitation,
and went to the piano. She had a delicate touch, and accompanied herself
with great taste,--but her voice, full, penetrating, rich and true,--was
one of the purest and most sympathetic ever possessed by woman, and its
freshness was unspoilt by any of the varied "systems" of torture
invented by singing-masters for the ingenious destruction of the
delicate vocal organ. She sang a Norwegian love-song in the original
tongue, which might be roughly translated as follows:--

"Lovest thou me for my beauty's sake?
Love me not then!
Love the victorious, glittering Sun,
The fadeless, deathless, marvellous One!"

"Lovest thou me for my youth's sake?
Love me not then!
Love the triumphant, unperishing Spring,
Who every year new charms doth bring!"

"Lovest thou me for treasure's sake?
Oh, love me not then!
Love the deep, the wonderful Sea,
Its jewels are worthier love than me!"

"Lovest thou me for Love's own sake?
Ah sweet, then love me!
More than the Sun and the Spring and the Sea,
Is the faithful heart I will yield to thee!"

A silence greeted the close of her song. Though the young men were
ignorant of the meaning of the words still old Gueldmar translated them
for their benefit, they could feel the intensity of the passion
vibrating through her ringing tones,--and Errington sighed
involuntarily. She heard the sigh, and turned round on the music-stool
laughing.

"Are you so tired, or sad, or what is it?" she asked merrily. "It is too
melancholy a tune? And I was foolish to sing it,--because you cannot
understand the meaning of it. It is all about love,--and of course love
is always sorrowful."

"Always?" asked Lorimer, with a half-smile.

"I do not know," she said frankly, with a pretty deprecatory gesture of
her hands,--"but all books say so! It must be a great pain, and also a
great happiness. Let me think what I can sing to you now,--but perhaps
you will yourself sing?"

"Not one of us have a voice, Miss Gueldmar," said Errington. "I used to
think I had, but Lorimer discouraged my efforts."

"Men shouldn't sing," observed Lorimer; "if they only knew how awfully
ridiculous they look, standing up in dress-coats and white ties, pouring
forth inane love-ditties that nobody wants to hear, they wouldn't do it.
Only a woman