Mrs. Dent arose with alacrity and fetched a mass of white from the
closet. "Here," she said, "if you want to sew the lace on this
nightgown. I was going to put her to it, but she'll be glad enough
to get rid of it. She ought to have this and one more before she
goes. I don't like to send her away without some good
underclothing."

Rebecca snatched at the little white garment and sewed feverishly.

That night she wakened from a deep sleep a little after midnight
and lay a minute trying to collect her faculties and explain to
herself what she was listening to. At last she discovered that it
was the then popular strains of "The Maiden's Prayer" floating up
through the floor from the piano in the sitting-room below. She
jumped up, threw a shawl over her nightgown, and hurried downstairs
trembling. There was nobody in the sitting-room; the piano was
silent. She ran to Mrs. Dent's bedroom and called hysterically:

"Emeline! Emeline!"

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Dent's voice from the bed. The voice was
stern, but had a note of consciousness in it.

"Who--who was that playing 'The Maiden's Prayer' in the sitting-
room, on the piano?"

"I didn't hear anybody."

"There was some one."