ou like my singing? I am so glad," she said, with a smile of delight.
"It has been a great pain to me, because it failed in what it was
wanted for. But now we think I can use it to get my bread. I have
really been taught well. And now I have two pupils, that Miss Meyrick
found for me. They pay me nearly two crowns for their two lessons."

"I think I know some ladies who would find you many pupils after
Christmas," said Deronda. "You would not mind singing before any one
who wished to hear you?"

"Oh no, I want to do something to get money. I could teach reading and
speaking, Mrs. Meyrick thinks. But if no one would learn of me, that is
difficult." Mirah smiled with a touch of merriment he had not seen in
her before. "I dare say I should find her poor--I mean my mother. I
should want to get money for her. And I can not always live on charity;
though"--here she turned so as to take all three of her companions in
one glance--"it is the sweetest charity in all the world."

"I should think you can get rich," said Deronda, smiling. "Great ladies
will perhaps like you to teach their daughters, We shall see. But now
do sing again to us."

She went on willingly, singing with ready memory various things by
Gordigiani and Schubert; then, when she had left the piano, Mab said,
entreatingly, "Oh, Mirah, if you would not mind singing the little
hymn."

"It is too childish," said Mirah. "It is like lisping."

"What is the hymn?" said Deronda.

"It is the Hebrew hymn she remembers her mother singing over her when
she lay in her cot," said Mrs. Meyrick.

"I should like very much to hear it," said Deronda, "if you think I am
worthy to hear what is so sacred."

"I will sing it if you like," said Mirah, "but I don't sing real
words--only here and there a syllable like hers--the rest is lisping.
Do you know Hebrew? because if you do, my singing will seem childish
nonsense."

Deronda shook his head. "It will be quite good Hebrew to me."

Mirah crossed her little feet and hands in her easiest attitude, and
then lifted up her head at an angle which seemed to be directed to some
invisible face bent over her, while she sang a little hymn of quaint
melancholy intervals, with syllables that really seemed childish
lisping to her audience; the voice in which she gave it forth had
gathered even a sweeter, more cooing tenderness than was heard in her
other songs.

"If I were ever to know the real words, I should still go on in my old
w