ounds are heard but Misereres
and Tenebrae."

"Promise me that in future you will try to keep it like that Christian
temple, pure and inviolate from all imprecations and rebellious words.
If gloom there must be, see to it that resignation seals your lips.
What are you trying to do? You are not strong enough to walk alone."

"I want to go into the parlor,--I want my piano. Yesterday I attempted
to cross the room, and only Katie's presence saved me from a severe
fall."

She stood by her chair, grasping the carved back, and Dr. Grey stepped
forward, and drew her arm under his.

In her great weakness she leaned upon him, and when they reached the
parlor door, she paused and almost panted.

"You must not attempt to play,--you are too feeble even to sit up
longer. Let me take you back to your room."

"No,--no! Let me alone. I know best what is good for me; and I tell
you my piano is my only Paraclete."

Holding his arm for support, she drew a chair instead of the
piano-stool to the instrument, and seated herself.

Dr. Grey raised the lid, and waited some seconds, expecting her to
play, but she sat still and mute, and presently he stooped to catch a
glimpse of her countenance.

"I want to see Elsie's grave. Open the blinds."

He threw open the shutters, and came back to the piano.

Through the window, the group of deodars was visible, and there,
bathed in the mild yellow sunshine was the mound, and the faded wreath
swinging in the breeze.

For many minutes Mrs. Gerome gazed at the quiet spot where her nurse
rested, and with her eyes still on the grave, her fingers struck into
Chopin's Funeral March.

After a while, Dr. Grey noticed a slight quiver cross her pale lips,
and when the mournful music reached its saddest chords, a mist veiled
the steely eyes, and very soon tears rolled slowly down her cheeks.

The march ended, she did not pause, but began Mozart's Requiem, and
all the while that slow rain of tears dripped down on her white
fingers, and splashed upon the ivory keys.

Dr. Grey was so rejoiced at the breaking up of the ice that had long
frozen the fountain of her tears, that he made no attempt to interrupt
her, until he saw that she tottered in her chair. Taking her hands
from the piano, he said gently,--

"You are quite exhausted, and I can not permit this to continue. Come
back to your room."

"No; let me stay here. Put me on the sofa in the oriel, and leave the
blinds open."

He lifted her f