picture, or design
exquisite adornments, or if I could hold the world spell-bound by my
voice"--

"You do sing," returned Sylvie. "Auntie was speaking of it yesterday.
She said, 'How I should like to hear Miss Lawrence sing some of her
pathetic old ballads!'"

"You know all the sweet and tender ones."

"I sing mine over daily," and Sylvie laughed with a dainty inflection.

Irene went home, and opened her piano. It might have made jarring
discord, but for Fred's thoughtfulness. She found it was in perfect
tune.

Was it the music that brought a curious intensity to her after all these
long, dreary months? Her fingers seemed a little stiff at first, and
some things had gone out of her mind. Then she dropped her face into her
hands, and thought.

"It is my only gift," she said slowly. "When they are married I will not
be a burthen on them: I can make my way. I shall never try to think of
marriage again;" and she shuddered.

"I declare, you are quite like yourself," said her mother that evening.

The weeks went on. Miss Barry was making plans for her niece. She could
not live here alone, even for a few months. And she longed to see her
married. Though the others had almost forgotten how surely her days were
numbered, she had not.

Fred assented delicately to her proposal.

"It is not as if there were only your income," she said with a touch of
pride. "Sylvie will have enough to keep the old house as it is kept now,
and your mother and sister have some claims on you. Still, for her
sake"--

Sylvie would fain have put it off, but she was gently overruled. The
wedding-garments were ordered, the day appointed. A quiet marriage in
the pretty parlor, with only a few friends. They brought Miss Barry down
stairs, and she listened while her darling reverently repeated her vows.
They kissed the new bride while the tears were shining in her eyes, and
sent her on a brief wedding-journey with heartfelt blessings. Maverick
was to telegraph to them every day.

Fred Lawrence could hardly believe his happiness. They were like two
children out on a pleasure-excursion, not needing to realize the gravity
of life in these golden days. What cared they for pale winter suns and
shivering blasts!

Long ago he had planned a brilliant tour to Europe for her. He had gone
over it all, and would only have been bored; but it was the thing to do,
and he might enjoy her fresh delight in it. But to both of them--to him
especially--had come