king up every minute to ask him for another branch, or another strip
of blue ribbon.

When it had grown dusk, and the church was finished, looking certainly
very pretty, with the dark leaves against its white pillars, and the
scarlet berries kissing the stained windows, Cecil went noiselessly up
into the organ-loft, and played the Christmas anthem. Vivian followed
her, and, leaning against the organ, watched her, shading his eyes with
his hand. She went on playing--first a Miserere, then Mozart's Symphony
in E, and then improvisations of her own--the sort of music that, when
one stands calmly to listen to it, makes one feel it whether one likes
or not. As she played, tears rose to her lashes, and she looked up at
Vivian's face, bending over her in the gloaming. Love was in her eyes,
and Syd knew it, but feared to trust to it. His pulses beat fast, he
leaned towards her, till his mustaches touched her soft perfumy hair.
Words hung on his lips. But the door of the organ-loft opened.

"'Pon my life, Miss St. Aubyn, that's divine, delicious!" cried Cos. "We
always thought that you were divine, but we never knew till now that you
brought the angels' harmony with you to earth. For Heaven's sake, play
that last thing again!"

"I never play what I compose twice," said Cecil, hurriedly, stooping
down for her hat.

Vivian cursed him inwardly for his untimely interruption, but cooler
thought made him doubt if he were not well saved some words, dictates of
hasty passion, that he might have lived to repent. For Guy Vivian's fate
warned him, and he mistrusted the love of a flirt, if flirt, as he
feared--from her sudden caprices to him, her alternate impatience with,
and encouragement of, his cousin--Cecil St. Aubyn would prove. He gave
her his arm down the yew-tree walk. Neither of them spoke all the way,
but he sent a servant on for another shawl, and wrapped it round her
very tenderly when it came; and when he stood in the lighted hall, I saw
by the stern, worn look of his face--the look I have seen him wear after
a hard fight--that the fiery passions in him had been having a fierce
battle.

That evening the St. Aubyn was off her fun, said she was tired, and,
disregarding the misery she caused to Cos and four other men, who,
figuratively speaking, _not_ literally, for they went into the "dry" and
comestibles fast enough, had lived on her smiles for the last month,
excused herself to Mrs. Vivian, and departed to her dormitory.