twice a week to give us
lessons. But you play better than he does."

"Little flatterer!" kissing her and laughing, and the white hands busy
again. "Papa, what will you have?"

"A song, my dear."

"Well, what do you like? Casta Diva?"

"I'd be sorry to like it! can you sing the Lass o' Gowrie?"

"I shall try, if you wish."

She broke into singing as she spoke, and Grace's work dropped in her lap
as she listened. What an exquisite voice it was! So clear, so sweet, so
powerful. The mute-wrapped stillness that followed the song was the best
applause. Miss Danton rose up, laughing at her sister's entranced face.

"Oh, don't stop!" Eeny cried, imploringly. "Sing again, Kate."

There was a loud ring at the doorbell before Kate could answer. Captain
Danton and Grace had been listening an instant before to a carriage
rolling up the drive. The former started up now and hurried out of the
room; and Kate stood still, intently looking at the door.

"Who is that?" said Eeny. "Mr. Richards?"

Kate laid her hand on the girl's shoulder, and still stood silent and
intent. They could hear the door open, hear the voices of the Captain
and his man Ogden; and then there was a shuffling of feet in the hall
and up the stairs.

"They are helping him upstairs," said Kate, drawing a long breath. "Yes,
it is Mr. Richards."

Eeny looked as if she would like to ask some questions, but her sister
sat down again at the piano, and drowned her words in a storm of music.
Half an hour passed, nearly an hour, Miss Danton played on and on
without ceasing, and then her father came back. The girl looked at him
quickly and questioningly, but his high coloured face was as
good-humoured as ever.

"Playing away still," he said, "and Eeny's eyes are like two midnight
moons. Do you know it is half-past ten, Miss Eeny, and time little girls
were in bed?"

Grace rose up, and put her work in her pocket. Eeny came over, kissed
her father and sister good-night, and retired. Grace, with a simple
good-night, was following her example, but the cordial Captain held out
his hand.

"Good-night, my little housekeeper," he said; "and pleasant dreams."

Miss Danton held out her taper fingers, but her good-night was quiet and
cool.

Her father's housekeeper, it would seem, did not impress her very
favourably, or she was too proud to be cordial with dependants.

Up in her own room, Grace turned her lamp low, and sitting down by the
window, drew back the cur