"No," said Dr. Grey.

"Oh, but I have. She'll sing for me," returned Arthur, proudly. "She
said she would, though she had meant never to sing again."

Christian blushed violently, for the boy, in his unconscious way, had
referred to a little episode of his illness, when, having exhausted all
efforts to soothe him into drowsiness, she had tried her voice, silent for
many months--silent since before she had known Dr. Grey. She had
wished it so--wished to bury all relics of that time of her youth deep
down, so that no chance hand could ever dig them up again.

"Do you really sing?" asked Dr. Grey, a little surprised, and turning full
upon her those grave, gentle, tender eyes.

She blushed more painfully than ever, but she answered steadily, "Yes,
I was supposed to have a very fine voice. My father wished it
cultivated for the stage. It might have been so if things had been
different."

"Would you have liked it?--the stage, I mean."

"Oh no, no!" with a visible, unmistakable shudder. "I would have
resisted to the last. I hated it."

"Was that why you left off singing?"

It would have been so easy to tell a lie--a little harmless white lie but
Christian could not do it. She could keep silence to any extent, but