by it she had always felt she must hold him to her for ever, or lose her
husband's love in time. She had never touched the piano before him or sung
a note, but much of her leisure since their return to New York had been
taken up, when he was out, in keeping herself in practice against the time
when she should have a chance to play for him and sing to him. She played
the sweet air, with its Mozart-like, mournful cadences, entirely through
ere she felt nerved enough to begin. Then she sang in such a voice as made
the most indifferent pause--a voice that was like purple velvet for
richness, as sweet as the breath of an heliotrope to which the sun had
just said adieu, as clear as the notes of an English skylark--this little
song:

"See, love! the rosy radiance gleams
Athwart the sunset sky:
List, love! and hear the bird's sweet notes
In lingering cadence die.
Clasp, love, thy clinging hands in mine,
And, holding fast by me,
Trust, love! I will be true, my dove,
Be ever true to thee--
So true, sweetheart, I'll be,
Sweetheart, to thee!

"Come, love! I waiting pine so long,
And weary watch for thee:
Dear love! amidst my darkest night
Thy star-like face I see.
Heart's love! ah, come thou close to me:
I'll shelter thee from harms,
From every foe or secret woe,