yet heard from Lady Vargrave. Evelyn expressed her surprise that she had
not, and the conversation fell, as was natural, upon Lady Vargrave
herself. "Is she as fond of music as you are?" asked Maltravers.

"Yes, indeed, I think so--and of the songs of a certain person in
particular; they always had for her an indescribable charm. Often have I
heard her say that to read your writings was like talking to an early
friend. Your name and genius seemed to make her solitary connection with
the great world. Nay--but you will not be angry--I half think it was her
enthusiasm, so strange and rare, that first taught me interest in
yourself."

"I have a double reason, then, for loving your mother," said Maltravers,
much pleased and flattered. "And does she not like Italian music?"

"Not much; she prefers some rather old-fashioned German airs, very
simple, but very touching."

"My own early passion," said Maltravers, more and more interested.

"But there are also one or two English songs which I have occasionally,
but very seldom, heard her sing. One in especial affects her so deeply,
even when she plays the air, that I have always attached to it a certain
mysterious sanctity. I should not like to sing it before a crowd, but
to-morrow, when you call on me, and we are alone--"

"Ah, to-morrow I will not fail to remind you."

Their conversation ceased; yet, somehow or other, that night when he
retired to rest the recollection of it haunted Maltravers. He felt a