es fixed on what he believed to be the
one especial object of Calderwell's affections at the moment.

Alice, unaware both of the melancholy gaze bent upon herself and of the
cause thereof, laughed again merrily.

"Poor Mr. Calderwell," she cried, as she let her fingers slide into
soft, introductory chords. "He isn't to blame for not liking what he
calls our lost spirits that wail. It's just the way he's made."

Arkwright vouchsafed no reply. With an abrupt gesture he turned and
began to pace the room moodily. At the piano Alice slipped from the
chords into the nocturne. She played it straight through, then, with a
charm and skill that brought Arkwright's feet to a pause before it was
half finished.

"By George, that's great!" he breathed, when the last tone had quivered
into silence.

"Yes, isn't it--beautiful?" she murmured.

The room was very quiet, and in semi-darkness. The last rays of a late
June sunset had been filling the room with golden light, but it was gone
now. Even at the piano by the window, Alice had barely been able to see
clearly enough to read the notes of her nocturne.

To Arkwright the air still trembled with the exquisite melody that had
but just left her fingers. A quick fire came to his eyes. He forgot
everything but that it was Alice there in the half-light by the
window--Alice, whom he loved. With a low cry he took a swift step toward
her.

"Alice!"

Instantly the girl was on her feet. But it was not toward him that she
turned. It was away--resolutely, and with a haste that was strangely
like terror.

Alice, too, had forgotten, for just a moment. She had let herself drift
into a dream world where there was nothing but the music she was playing
and the man she loved. Then the music had stopped, and the man had
spoken her name.

Alice remembered then. She remembered Billy, whom this man loved. She
remembered the long days just passed when this man had stayed away,
presumably to teach _her_--to save _her_. And now, at the sound of his
voice speaking her name, she had almost bared her heart to him.

No wonder that Alice, with a haste that looked like terror, crossed the
floor and flooded the room with light.

"Dear me!" she shivered, carefully avoiding Arkwright's eyes. "If Mr.
Calderwell were here now he'd have some excuse to talk about our lost
spirits that wail. That _is_ a creepy piece of music when you play it
in the dark!" And, for fear that he should suspect how her heart was