onths earlier, whispered to each
other, but told no tales. She leaned her head upon his bosom, and
looking out upon the winding walks of the garden, so fair and peaceful
in sheen and shadow, she said that her new home was more beautiful
than she had dreamed. "Hark!" said she, raising her head suddenly, and
listening. "I thought I heard a sigh."

"It was only the wind among the vines," he replied. "Wandering about
in the moonlight has made you nervous."

"I believe I _was_ a little afraid before you came," said she. "That
eye looking at me through the lattice gave me a start; and while I was
running after your shadow, I heard that voice again singing, 'Toll the
bell.' I wonder how you can be so indifferent about such a remarkable
voice, when you are such a lover of music."

"I presume, as I told you before, that it was one of the darkies,"
rejoined he. "I will inquire about it to-morrow."

"I should sooner believe it to be the voice of an angel from heaven,
than a darky," responded the bride. "I wish I could hear it again
before I sleep."

In immediate response to her wish, the full rich voice she had invoked
began to sing an air from "Norma," beginning, "O, how his art deceived
thee!"

Fitzgerald started so suddenly, he overturned a seat near them.
"Hush!" she whispered, clinging to his arm. Thus they stood in
silence, she listening with rapt attention, he embarrassed and
angry almost beyond endurance. The enchanting sounds were obviously
receding.

"Let us follow her, and settle the question who she is," said Lily,
trying to pull him forward. But he held her back strongly.

"No more running about to-night," he answered almost sternly. Then,
immediately checking himself, he added, in a gentler tone: "It is
imprudent in you to be out so long in the evening air; and I am really
very tired, dear Lily. To-morrow I will try to ascertain which of the
servants has been following you round in this strange way."

"Do you suppose any servant could sing _that_?" she exclaimed.

"They are nearly all musical, and wonderfully imitative," answered he.
"They can catch almost anything they hear." He spoke in a nonchalant
tone, but she felt his arm tremble as she leaned upon it. He had never
before made such an effort to repress rage.

In tones of tender anxiety, she said: "I am afraid you are very tired,
dear. I am sorry I kept you out so long."

"I am rather weary," he replied, taking her hand, and holding it in
his. He