le brightened and deepened.

"You are like Miles, Sir Edgar. No matter where he went, he always said
coming home was the most pleasant part of the day."

Then, with her white, jeweled hand, she poured out my coffee, and
certainly the aromatic fragrance was very pleasant.

"You must be like Miles in something else," she said. "He always
declared that I made better coffee than anyone else--better than he
tasted in all his travels. Do you not think the same?" And she looked at
me as anxiously as though the making of coffee to please me were the
chief aim of life.

"Was Sir John at home?" she asked, after a few minutes.

Then I had to describe my day, to give her a history of the coming fair,
in which she affected great interest.

"I should like to go very much," she said. "I have read in fashionable
novels of fancy fairs, but I have never seen one. Are you going, Sir
Edgar?"

"Lady Thesiger has asked my assistance, and I have promised it. We shall
make up a party. If you wish to go, Coralie, you shall."

She thanked me, and when I had finished my coffee, rang the bell and
ordered it to be cleared away.

"I am going to sing to you," she said. "I know you are tired. Throw your
head back, shut your eyes and listen. Do not speak, because I am going
to weave a charm for you."

I declare before Heaven that when I remember the magic of that charm my
heart beats even now with fear!

Are you keenly sensitive to music, reader? If so, you will understand.
I could neither sing nor play, but I loved music with a perfect passion.
There was not a nerve or pulse in my body, not a thrill in my heart,
that did not answer it. Listening to beautiful music, sweet, soothing
and sad, this world fell from me. I was in an ideal life, with vague,
glorious fancies floating round me, beautiful, lofty dreams filling my
whole soul.

In this higher world Coralie's music wrapped me; then I came to myself
with a sudden start, for there was Coralie half kneeling by my side,
covering my hand with kisses and tears.

CHAPTER X.

"Coralie!" I cried, in surprise. "What is the matter? What are you
doing?"

She looked up at me, the fire of her eyes flashing through the mist of
tears.

"Don't scold me, Edgar; it is the fault of the music. It sent me here to
tell you how dearly I love you, and to ask from you one kind word."

I was terribly embarrassed. Could it be possible this beautiful woman
was confessing her love for me?

"Do n