g these labours, Phoebe, who was really a good musician, ought to
have suffered horribly; but either she did not, or her good-nature was
stronger than her good taste, for she went on serenely, sometimes for
hours together, while her old and her young admirers sat secretly
cursing (in such ways as are becoming to a clergyman) each in his
corner. Perhaps she had a slight degree of pleasure in the evident power
she had over father and son; but it was difficult fully to understand
her views at this somewhat bewildering period of her life, in which she
was left entirely to her own resources. She was herself groping a little
through paths of uncertain footing, enjoying herself a great deal, but
not seeing clearly where it led to, and having no definite purpose, or
chart of those unknown countries in her mind.

"How you can go on," said Reginald, on one of these occasions, having at
length managed to seize upon and get her into a corner, "for hours,
having your ears sacrificed and your patience tried by these fearful
discords, and smile through it, is a mystery which I cannot fathom! If
it was only consideration for your audience, that might be enough to
move any one--but yourself--"

"I don't seem to feel it so very much myself."

"And yet you are a musician!"

"Don't be too hard upon me, Mr May. I only play--a little. I am not like
my cousins in the High Street, who are supposed to be very clever at
music; and then poor Mr. Copperhead is a very old friend."

"Poor Mr. Copperhead! poor us, you mean, who have to listen--and you,
who choose to play."

"You are very vindictive," she said, with a piteous look. "Why should
you be so vindictive? I do what I can to please my friends, and--there
is no doubt about what poor Clarence likes best; if you were to show me
as plainly what you would like--_quite_ plainly, as he does----"

"Don't you know?" said Reginald, with glowing eyes. "Ah, well! if I may
show you plainly--quite plainly, with the same results, you may be sure
not to be left long in doubt. Talk to me! it is easier, and not so
fatiguing. Here," said the young man, placing a chair for her; "he has
had your patient services for two hours. Do only half as much for me."

"Ah! but talking is a different thing, and more--difficult--and
more--personal. Well!" said Phoebe, with a laugh and a blush, taking the
chair, "I will try, but you must begin; and I cannot promise, you know,
for a whole hour."

"After you have given