ooked concerned at her brother's somewhat
grieved appearance, and said, helplessly, 'Yes, I suppose I do.'

'My idea of her is quite the reverse. A poetess must intrinsically be
sensitive, or she could never feel: but then, frankness is a rhetorical
necessity even with the most modest, if their inspirations are to do any
good in the world. You will, for certain, not be interested in something
I was going to tell you, which I thought would have pleased you
immensely; but it is not worth mentioning now.'

'If you will not tell me, never mind. But don't be crabbed, Kit! You
know how interested I am in all your affairs.'

'It is only that I have composed an air to one of the prettiest of her
songs, "When tapers tall"--but I am not sure about the power of it. This
is how it begins--I threw it off in a few minutes, after you had gone to
bed.'

He went to the piano and lightly touched over an air, the manuscript copy
of which he placed in front of him, and listened to hear her opinion,
having proved its value frequently; for it was not that of a woman
merely, but impersonally human. Though she was unknown to fame, this was
a great gift in Faith, since to have an unsexed judgment is as precious
as to be an unsexed being is deplorable.

'It is very fair indeed,' said the sister, scarcely moving her lips in
her great attention. 'Now again, and again, and again. How could you do
it in the time!'

Kit knew that she admired his performance: passive assent was her usual
praise, and she seldom insisted vigorously upon any view of his
compositions unless for purposes of emendation.

'I was thinking that, as I cannot very well write to her, I may as well
send her this,' said Christopher, with lightened spirits, voice to
correspond, and eyes likewise; 'there can be no objection to it, for such
things are done continually. Consider while I am gone, Faith. I shall
be out this evening for an hour or two.'

When Christopher left the house shortly after, instead of going into the
town on some errand, as was customary whenever he went from home after
dark, he ascended a back street, passed over the hills behind, and walked
at a brisk pace inland along the road to Rookington Park, where, as he
had learnt, Ethelberta and Lady Petherwin were staying for a time, the
day or two which they spent at Wyndway having formed a short break in the
middle of this visit. The moon was shining to-night, and Christopher
sped onwards over the