of the candles upon her; for her face reflected the tender sadness of
the music, it was in the mournful droop of her scarlet lips, and the
sombre depths of her eyes. Close beside her sat little Miss Priscilla
busy with her needle as usual, but now she paused, and lifting her head
in her quick, bird-like way, looked up at Anthea, long, and fixedly.

"Anthea my dear," said she suddenly, "I'm fond of music, and I love to
hear you play, as you know,--but I never heard you play quite
so--dolefully? dear me, no,--that's not the right word,--nor
dismal,--but I mean something between the two."

"I thought you were fond of Grieg, Aunt Priscilla."

"So I am, but then, even in his gayest moments, poor Mr. Grieg was
always breaking his heart over something, or other. And--
Gracious!--there's Mr. Bellew at the window. Pray come in, Mr. Bellew,
and tell us how you liked Peterday, and the muffins?"

"Thank you!" said Bellew, stepping in through the long French window,
"but I should like to hear Miss Anthea play again, first, if she will?"

But Anthea, who had already risen from the piano, shook her head:

"I only play when I feel like it,--to please myself,--and Aunt
Priscilla," said she, crossing to the broad, low window-seat, and
leaning out into the fragrant night.

"Why then," said Bellew, sinking into the easy-chair that Miss Priscilla
indicated with a little stab of her needle, "why then the muffins were
delicious, Aunt Priscilla, and Peterday was just exactly what a
one-legged mariner ought to be."

"And the shrimps, Mr. Bellew?" enquired Miss Priscilla, busy at her
sewing again.

"Out-shrimped all other shrimps so ever!" he answered, glancing to where
Anthea sat with her chin propped in her hand, gazing up at the waning
moon, seemingly quite oblivious of him.

"And did--_He_--pour out the tea?" enquired Miss Priscilla, "from the
china pot with the blue flowers and the Chinese Mandarin fanning
himself,--and very awkward, of course, with his one hand,--I don't mean
the Mandarin, Mr. Bellew,--and very full of apologies?"

"He did."

"Just as usual; yes he always does,--and every year he gives me three
lumps of sugar,--and I only take one, you know. It's a pity," sighed
Miss Priscilla, "that it was his right arm,--a great pity!" And here she
sighed again, and, catching herself, glanced up quickly at Bellew, and
smiled to see how completely absorbed he was in contemplation of the
silent figure in the window-seat. "But