drawing-room was as much from surprise as for the pleasure of a
nearer enjoyment of his daughter's skilful performance. Unconscious
of any approaching footstep, Leah sat, pale and statuesque, at the
elegant instrument, and drew forth, at intervals, strains of
witching melody. The absorbed expression of her emotionless face
told plainly that music was the one channel through which the
pent-up feelings of her heart found an outlet. How often is this
divine art the unsyllabled expression of a miserable, or an
overjoyed heart.

"My daughter," at length said Mr. Mordecai tenderly, after standing
for some moments unobserved behind Leah.

"Is it you, father?" she replied, turning suddenly around, "I did
not hear you come in."

"No, my love, I came softly that I might not disturb you; came to
thank you for the sweet music that in this early morning sounds-so
heavenly, I will say. Play me something else, as sweet and tender as
the sonata you have just finished, and then come here and sit beside
me; I have something to tell you."

"With all my heart, father," Leah replied, rising and turning
through a mass of music. "Shall it be a song, father?"

"By all means, my dear."

And drawing forth the well-worn pages of Beethoven's "Adelaide," the
young girl reseated herself, and sang.