the
girl:

"You would better play, Viola."

The girl dashed into a stormy Polish march, which she played very
well, but with a mechanical precision which seemed to offend Clarke,
who rose and laid his hand on her arm. "Wait, you're not in the mood
yet." He turned to Serviss. "The spirit of our discussion is upon her.
She is very sensitive to such things. I will sing first--if you don't
object," he added, in a new tone, a touch of apology in his voice, and
he gave out the effect of addressing an unseen auditor--some one in
the inner room.

"I shall be delighted," replied Serviss, with formal politeness,
though he began to apprehend something morbidly forbidding in the
minister and in his influence on the girl. An extraordinary intimacy
was revealed, not so much in the words he spoke as in the tones he
used. "Here is the girl's lover," he decided.

There was no timidity or hesitation in Viola's manner as she struck
the first chords of an old ballad, and Clarke, transformed by a new
and lofty mood, sang, with notable beauty of phrasing, "The Banks o'
Ben Lomond." Something in the melancholy of the lover's cry seemed to
fit with this singular young preacher's mood. His voice searched the
heart, his eyes misted with feeling, and when he finished Serviss
applauded most fervently, "Bravo!" and impulsively offered his hand.

"My dear fellow, you have a wonderful voice. _You_ are the one to go
to New York; you'd make Carolus look to his laurels. Sing something
else--something of Strauss. Do you know Strauss?"

Clarke smiled with wistful sadness. "I sing very few ballads. My voice
was given me to use in Christ's service, not for the gratification of
my pride."

Serviss recoiled before this sanctimonious speech, and the light went
out of his face. A disgust which he could not entirely conceal crossed
his lips. "My dear sir, you can't serve the Lord better than by
singing beautiful songs to the weary people of this earth. To wear out
a voice like that on pinchbeck hymn tunes is a crime." Then, as if
becoming conscious of a neglect of the girl, he added: "Now that you
are in the mood, Miss Lambert, you must try that sonata again."

The girl seemed not to be offended by his enthusiasm over the
minister's singing, and with a word in a low voice to Clarke, who
placed a sheet of music before her, she began to play, opening the
composition with unexpected breadth and dignity of phrasing. Serviss
listened with growing amazemen