going to sing next: and to my extreme
surprise, and almost equal pleasure, I saw Annas sit down to the harp.

"Oh, Miss Keith is going to sing!" cried I. "I should like to hear
hers."

"A Scottish ballad, no doubt," replied Miss Newton.

There was a soft, low, weird-like prelude: and then came a voice like
that of a thrush, at which every other in the room seemed to hush
instinctively. Each word was clear.

This was Annas's song.

"She said,--`We parted for a while,
But we shall meet again ere long;
I work in lowly, lonely room,
And he amid the foreign throng:
But here I willingly abide,--
Here, where I see the other side.

"`Look to those hills which reach away
Beyond the sea that rolls between;
Here from my casement, day by day,
Their happy summits can be seen:
Happy, although they us divide,--
I know he sees the other side.

"`The days go on to make the year--
A year we must be parted yet--
I sing amid my crosses light,
For on those hills mine eyes are set:
You say, those hills our eyes divide?
Ay, but he sees the other side!

"`So these dividing hills become
Our point of meeting, every eve;
Up to the hills we look and pray
And love--our work so soon we leave;
And then no more shall aught divide--
We dwell upon the other side.'"

"Pretty!" said Miss Newton, in the tone which people use when they do
not think a thing pretty, but fancy that you expect them to say so: "but
not so charming as Miss Bracewell's song."

"Wait," said I; "she has not finished yet."

The harp was speaking now--in a sad low voice, rising gradually to a
note of triumph. Then it sank low again, and Annas's voice continued
the song.

"She said,--`We parted for a while,
But we shall meet again ere long;
I dwell in lonely, lowly room,
And he hath joined the heavenly throng:
Yet here I willingly abide,
For yet I see the Other Side.

"`I look unto the hills of God
Beyond the life that rolls between;
Here from my work by faith each day
Their blessed summits can be seen;
Blessed, although they us divide,--
I know he sees the Other Side.

"`The days go on, the days go on,--
Through earthly life we meet not yet;
I sing amid my crosses light,
For on those hills mine eyes are set:
'Tis true, those hills our eyes divide--
Ay, but he sees the Other Side!

"`So the eternal hills become
Our point of meeting, every eve;
Up to the hi