t away to the country. Mr.
Carew lived at the Club, and Antony made daily visits and did countless
errands for his aunt. One day, toward the end of the little boy's
convalescence, Fairfax came in late and heard the sound of a sweet voice
singing. He entered the drawing-room quietly and the song went on. Mrs.
Carew had a lovely voice, one of those natural born voices,
heart-touching, appealing; one of those voices that cause an ache and go
to the very marrow, that make the eyes fill. As though she knew Antony
was there, and liked the entertainment, she sang him song after song,
closing with "Oh, wert thou in the cold blast," then let her hands rest
on the keys. Fairfax went over to the piano.

"Why didn't you tell me you sang like this, Aunt Caroline?" The emotion
her songs had kindled remained in his voice.

"Oh, I never sing, my dear boy, your uncle doesn't like music."

"Damn," said the young man sharply; "I beg your pardon. You've got the
family talent; your voice is divine."

She was touched but shook her head. "I might have sung possibly, if your
uncle had ever cared for it. He'll be back to-morrow and I thought I'd
just run these things over."

As she rose and left the piano he observed how young she was, how
graceful in her trailing dress. The forced housing of these weeks of
Gardiner's illness had quieted the restless spirit. Mrs. Carew was
womanly to him, feminine for the first time since his arrival. It was at
the end of his tongue to say, "Why did you ever marry that man?" He
thought with keen dislike of the husband whose appearance would close
the piano, silence the charming voice, and drive his aunt to find
occupation in the shops and in charities. He became too chivalrous.

"Flow gently, sweet Afton," as sung by her, echoed thence afterwards in
his mind all his life. The melody was stored in the chambers of his
memory, and whenever, in later years, he tried not to recall 700 Madison
Avenue, and the inhospitable home, maddeningly and plaintively these
tunes would come: "Roll on, silver moon," that too. How that moon rolled
and hung in the pale sky of remembrance, whose colour and hue is more
enchanting than ever were Italian skies!

Mrs. Carew had an audience composed of two people. Little Gardiner, up
and dressed in his flannel gown, and the big cousin fathering him with a
protecting arm, both in the sofa corner. Mrs. Carew's mellow voice on
those winter afternoons before Bella returned, before Mr.