netrating ring of truth--

'Glory, glory, glory, glory,
Glory be to God on high,
Glory, glory, glory, glory,
Sing His praises through the sky;
Glory, glory, glory, glory,
Glory to the Father give:
Glory, glory, glory, glory,
Sing His praises, all that live!'

The hymn went on to offer Christ's salvation to all who would have it;
and closed with a variation of the chorus, taken from the song of the
redeemed in heaven,--'Worthy is the Lamb that was slain.'

As sweet and free as the jubilant shout of a bird the notes rang; with
a _lift_ in them, however, which the unthinking creature neither knows
nor can express. Betty's eye roved once or twice round the room during
the singing to see how the song was taken by the rest of the company.
All listened, but she could perceive that some were bored and some
others shocked. Others looked curiously grave.

The music ceased and the singer rose. Nobody proposed that she should
sing again.

'What do you think of the good taste of that?' one of Betty's cavaliers
asked her softly.

'Oh, don't talk about good taste! Who is she?'

'I--really, I don't know--I believe somebody said she was a teacher
somewhere. She has tried her hand on us, hasn't she?'

'A teacher!' Betty repeated the word, but gave no attention to the
question. She was looking across the room at the musician, who was
standing by the piano talking with a gentleman. The apartment was not
so large but that she could see plainly, while it was large enough to
save her from the charge of ill-bred staring. She saw a moderately tall
figure, as straight as an Indian, with the head exquisitely set on the
shoulders, the head itself covered with an abundance of pale brown
hair, disposed at the back in a manner of careless grace which reminded
Betty of a head of Sappho on an old gem in her possession. The face she
could not see quite so well, for it was partly turned from her; Betty's
attention centred on the figure and carriage. A pang of jealous rivalry
shot through her as she looked. There was not a person in the room that
carried her head so nobly, nor whose pose was so stately and graceful;
yet, stately as it was, it had no air of proud self-consciousness, nor
of pride at all; it was not that; it was simple, maidenly dignity, not
dignity aped. Betty read so much, and rapidly read what else she could
see. She saw that the figure she was admiring was dressed but
indifferently; the black silk had cer