ing, though it possessed none of the brilliancy that masters teach, was touching and beautiful. After the first few lines of the song, a cloud passed over Herbert's face, and, shading his eyes with his hands, he remained buried in thought. 66 66 Capital, Isabel!" exclaimed Mr. Jones, clapping his hands; you sing better and better, every day. I like these sentimental songs they make me feel all no-how, and I rather like the feeling. Now, what shall we have next?" He tapped Herbert's shoulder. "What do you say, Mr. Grey?-shall it be sentimental again, or shall we have something to put us into spirits?" Herbert started from his reverie. " If it were left to my choice, I should ask for the same song again." 66 Oh, no, I can't hear of that! It seems to have given you the blue devils, already. Come, Isabel, you must choose for us,—something to satisfy us all." "Here is one," she said, turning to Mr. Jones, "which I think you have not heard yet. It is pretty, and not so very melancholy as the last." It was Knight's 'Of what is the old man thinking?' When the song was finished, Herbert got up, and came towards her. "You are right, Miss Denison; these things do not pass away : some impression they will leave for ever!" Isabel looked pleased, but made no answer. "Do you feel like an old man?" he continued, taking up the "You sing as if you did." song and smiling. "I rather think I do," she answered, laughing; "I never was a very merry child-was I, Aunt Charlotte? I don't remember ever being so noisy as your little things." 66 No; but then you were alone, Isabel, and that makes such a difference. I have six," she said, with both a smile and a sigh. Isabel had looked at her aunt; when she turned her head again, she met Herbert's gaze fixed upon her with an expression almost of sternness. It was as if he sought to read her soul. While she sang, some long-forgotten, happy feeling stirred within him; but, mingling with it, arose at the same moment the dark and dreary thoughts of doubt and suspicion, which for a time had seemed to sleep. He turned away: Isabel played a few bars; then, hastily looking up, asked him if he never sang. Never," he said, shortly, for there came over him a remembrance of the place and time, when and where he last had sung. A silence followed, and Mr. Price, after saying, as he usually did, that it was the pleasantest evening he had ever spent, rose to leave. CHAPTER IV. No, not more welcome the fairy numbers When, half awaking from fearful slumbers, He thinks the full choir of Heaven is near,- Nor thought its cold pulse could ever waken MOORE. From this time Herbert and Isabel met occasionally. That it was occasionally was his fault, but terror as well as love had taken strong possession of his soul, and when one feeling drove him to seek her, the other, with a strange power, withheld him. Still they met occasionally; most often by accident. And when he was actually in her presence, suspicion died away, only, however, to rise more powerfully after each meeting, when left to the tormenting suggestions of his memory. One Sunday afternoon, Rachel had been detained in the churchyard by a poor woman; she and Isabel were still there when Mr. Price came out. Offering to walk home with them, he set off with Rachel; Isabel and Herbert followed. "Shall you think me very impertinent," she said, suddenly looking up, after they had walked, as was often the case with them, a great part of the way in silence; ❝ shall you think me very impertinent, if I ask you something about your sermon ?" "Not at all," he said, with the grave, inquiring smile he sometimes fixed on her face; "far from it." "Ah! but what I have to say is rather impertinent, for it is, in fact, something like finding fault. However, as you give me leave, I will ask you whether you are not rather severe in what you say to us?" do "Severe?" he asked, with surprise. "How you mean ?" |