uch time for playing since your mamma has been ill,"
the woman continued, dusting the keys and setting up the music-rest.

"To-day my mother has a visitor; Mrs. Joseph Fleming is spending the
afternoon with her," said Hadria.

"To be sure, ma'am, to be sure, a nice young lady, and so cheerful,"
said the good woman, bustling off to wind up the tall old clock with the
wise-looking face, that had been allowed to run down since Hadria's last
visit. "Seems more cheerful like," observed the caretaker, as the steady
tick-tack began to sound through the quiet room.

"And have you fed my birds regularly, Mrs. Williams?" asked Hadria,
taking off her hat and standing at the open window looking out to the
terrace.

"Yes indeed, ma'am, every day, just as you used to do when you came
yourself. And they has got so tame; they almost eats out of my hand."

"And my robin? I hope he has not deserted us."

"Oh, no, he comes right into the room sometimes and hops about, just as
he did that afternoon, the last time you was here! I think it's the same
bird, for he likes to perch on that table and pick up the crumbs."

"Poor little soul! If you will give me a scrap of bread, Mrs.
Williams----"

The caretaker left the room, and returned with a thick slice, which
Hadria crumbled and scattered on the window-sill, as she stepped out to
the terrace.

The calm old mansion with its delicate outlines, its dreamy exquisite
stateliness, spoke of rest and sweet serenity. The place had the
melancholy but also the repose of greatness. It was rich in all that
lies nearest to the heart of that mysterious, dual-faced divinity that
we call beauty, compounded of sorrow and delight.

Ah! if only its owner could come and take up his abode here. If only he
would get well! Hadria's thoughts wandered backwards to that wonderful
evening, when she had played to him and Algitha, and they had all
watched the sunset afterwards, from the terrace. How long was it since
she had touched the piano in this old drawing-room? Never since she
returned from Paris. Even her own piano at home had been almost equally
silent. She believed that she had not only quite abandoned hope with
regard to music, but that she had prepared herself to face the
inevitable decay of power, the inevitable proofs of her loss, as time
went on. But so far, she had only had proofs that she could do
astonishingly much if she had the chance.

To-day, for the first time, the final ordeal had to