several hours of each day were invariably devoted to piano practice.
She never turned over a pile of sheet-music, trying now a little of
this, and now a little of that; but, having made her selections, she
played the piece entirely through, note for note, exactly as it was
written. Most people liked to hear Miss Warrington play, for the
performance was very complete. She sat gracefully at the piano, showed
no nervous anxiety, interpreted the notes conscientiously, and
finished the music to the very last octave. But Aunt Faith detected a
want of expression in this studied mechanism; it seemed to her that
Sibyl did not, in her heart, feel the spirit of the music which her
fingers played. Coming in from the kitchen, this morning, after
setting in motion the household wheels for the day, she again noticed
this automatic execution in the strains of Mendelssohn's
"Spring-Song," and it grated on her ear as she tended the hanging
baskets on the piazza. Continuing her round from her plants to her
birds and gold-fish, Aunt Faith kept listening to the monotonous sound
of the piano. "I wonder if Sibyl has a heart?" she thought; "sometimes
I am tempted to think she has none. How can she practise so steadily
when she has so much to decide? This visit to Saratoga will mean more
than it looks. The decision will be between religion and the world. If
she deliberately makes up her mind to go, it will show me that Mr.
Leslie's influence has not been strong enough to subdue her
worldliness and secret ambition. Poor child! she is like her mother.
And yet, Mabel Fitzhugh became an earnest Christian before she died.
God grant that her daughter may grow in grace also. Hugh, now, is all
Warrington; he is like his father, with all his father's faults and
all his father's generosity. Dear James! my favorite brother!" and
Aunt Faith wiped away a tear, as she crossed the hall and entered the
parlor where Sibyl was practising.