approving knowledge of
my interesting face mainly founded (however various the momentary
expressions it may include) on my face when I am silent?"

"I think it is," said Wilding.

"I think so too. Now, you see, when Obenreizer speaks--in other words,
when he is allowed to explain himself away--he comes out right enough;
but when he has not the opportunity of explaining himself away, he comes
out rather wrong. Therefore it is, that I say he does not keep silence
well. And passing hastily in review such faces as I know, and don't
trust, I am inclined to think, now I give my mind to it, that none of
them keep silence well."

This proposition in Physiognomy being new to Wilding, he was at first
slow to admit it, until asking himself the question whether Mrs.
Goldstraw kept silence well, and remembering that her face in repose
decidedly invited trustfulness, he was as glad as men usually are to
believe what they desire to believe.

But, as he was very slow to regain his spirits or his health, his
partner, as another means of setting him up--and perhaps also with
contingent Obenreizer views--reminded him of those musical schemes of his
in connection with his family, and how a singing-class was to be formed
in the house, and a Choir in a neighbouring church. The class was
established speedily, and, two or three of the people having already some
musical knowledge, and singing tolerably, the Choir soon followed. The
latter was led, and chiefly taught, by Wilding himself: who had hopes of
converting his dependents into so many Foundlings, in respect of their
capacity to sing sacred choruses.

Now, the Obenreizers being skilled musicians, it was easily brought to
pass that they should be asked to join these musical unions. Guardian
and Ward consenting, or Guardian consenting for both, it was necessarily
brought to pass that Vendale's life became a life of absolute thraldom
and enchantment. For, in the mouldy Christopher-Wren church on Sundays,
with its dearly beloved brethren assembled and met together, five-and-
twenty strong, was not that Her voice that shot like light into the
darkest places, thrilling the walls and pillars as though they were
pieces of his heart! What time, too, Madame Dor in a corner of the high
pew, turning her back upon everybody and everything, could not fail to be
Ritualistically right at some moment of the service; like the man whom
the doctors recommended to get drunk once a month, and who,