e
chapel, both paused to listen. On the small cabinet organ, a skilful
hand was playing a grand and solemn aria, which Leo had heard once
before in the cool depths of Freiburg Cathedral. It had impressed her
then most powerfully, as the despairing invocation of some doomed
Titan; to-day it thrilled her with keen and intolerable pain. Waving
the warden back, she softly entered the chapel, closed the door, and
sat down.

Through the narrow windows, the afternoon sunlight, fettered by shadowy
bars, fell on the bare floor, and the radiance smote the organ and the
wan face of the musician, gilding the dark reddish-brown hair coiled
loosely on her nobly poised head. Her black dress enhanced the extreme
pallor of delicate features, which, outlined against that golden
background, bore a strong resemblance to the lovely portrait of
Titian's wife in the Louvre. Unmindful of the keys, across which her
fingers strayed, she was gazing off into space, as if seeking some
friendly face; and to the same sombre, passionate, plaintive melody she
sang:

"The way is dark, my Father! Cloud upon cloud
Is gathering thickly o'er my head, and loud
The thunders roar above me. O, see--I stand
Like one bewildered! Father, take my hand--
And through the gloom lead safely home Thy Child!
The day declines, my Father! and the night
Is drawing darkly down. My faithless sight
Sees ghostly visions. Fears like a spectral band
Encompass me. O, Father, take my hand,
And from the night lead up to light Thy Child!
The cross is heavy, Father! I have borne
It long, and still do bear it. I cannot stand
Or go alone. O, Father, take my hand,
And reaching down, lead to the crown Thy Child!"

The voice was wonderfully sweet and rich, vibrating with the intense
pathos of minor chords in a mellow old violoncello, and either from
physical weakness, or the weight of woe, it quivered at last into a
thrilling cry. Tears were dripping over Leo's cheeks, as she went up to
the chancel railing, and leaning across, put out her hand. Beryl rose
and came forward, and so, with only the pine balustrade between, the
two stood palm in palm. No moisture dimmed the prisoner's eyes, but
around her beautiful mouth sorrowful curves betokened the fierceness of
the ordeal she was enduring; and her lips trembled a little, like rose
leaves under a sudden rude gust.

"I have wanted very much to see you, Miss Gordon,