that stole
along the passage and entered by the open door and surrounded him like
lightsome fairies. Into his right ear they poured their charm; in his
left ear they completed their work. Virgil was forgotten; old Homer might
never have existed.

Mr. Dale rose. He got up softly; he walked across the room and opened the
door wide. There was a very bright light streaming down the passage. In
the old days this passage was always dark; no one ever thought of
lighting the lobbies and passages at The Dales. The master of the house
wondered dimly at the light; but at the same time it gave him a sense of
comfort.

Suddenly a voice began to sing:

"I know a bank whereon the wild thyme grows."

The voice was sweet, pure, and high. It floated towards him. Suddenly he
stretched out his arms.

"I am coming, Alice," he said aloud. "Yes, I am coming. Don't call me
with such insistence. I come, I tell you; I come."

He ran down the passage; he entered the central hall; he burst into the
drawing-room. His eyes were full of excitement. He strode across the room
and sank into a chair close to the singer.

Miss Tredgold just turned and glanced at him.

"Ah, Henry!" she said; "so you are there. I hoped that this would draw
you. Now I am going to sing again."

"A song of the past," he said in a husky voice.

"Will this do?" she said, and began "Annie Laurie."

Once again Mr. Dale kept time with his hand and his feet. "Annie Laurie"
melted into "Home, Sweet Home"; "Home, Sweet Home" into "Ye Banks and
Braes o' Bonny Doon"; "Ye Banks and Braes" wandered into the delicious
notes of "Auld Lang Syne."

Suddenly Miss Tredgold rose, shut and locked the piano, and then turned
and faced her audience.

"No more to-night," she said. "By-and-by you girls shall all play on this
piano. You shall also sing, for I have not the slightest doubt that most
of you have got voices. You ought to be musical, for music belongs to
both sides of your house. There was once a time when your father played
the violin as no one else, in my opinion, ever played it. By the way,
Henry, is that violin still in existence?"

"Excuse me," said Mr. Dale; "I never touch it now. I have not touched it
for years. I would not touch it for the world."

"You will touch it again when the time is ripe. Now, no more music
to-night. Those who are tired had better go to bed."

The girls left the room without a word. Miss Tredgold then went up to Mr.
Dale.