ing why, she simply knew she was happy.

Apart from her fondness for the unreal scenes presented by the
miscellaneous books she read--scenes all the more unreal because she
had no experience by which to correct them--she had one other taste
which promised well for the future--a sincere love of music. She was
taking lessons, but it was from a superficial teacher, who was content
to give her pretty and showy pieces; and she brought even to this
favorite study the desultory habits which characterized all her
efforts to obtain an education. When she sat down to her piano,
however, nature was her strong ally. Her ear was fine and correct, and
her sensitive, fanciful spirit gave delicacy and originality to her
touch. It scarcely seems possible for one to become a sympathetic
musician without a large degree of imagination and a nature easily
moved by thought and feeling. The young girl's thoughts and feelings
were as yet very vague, not concentrated on definite objects, and yet
so good a connoisseur as Graydon often acknowledged her power, and
would listen with pleased attention to her girlish rendering of music
made familiar to him by the great performers of the day. He enjoyed it
all the more because it was her own interpretation, often incorrect,
but never commonplace or slovenly; and when her fingers wandered among
the keys in obedience to her own impulses he was even more charmed,
although the melody was usually without much meaning. She was also
endowed with the rudiments of a fine voice, and would often strike
notes of surpassing sweetness and power; but her tones would soon
quaver and break, and she complained that it tired her to sing. That
ended the matter, for anything that wearied her was not to be thought
of.

Thus she had drifted on with time, unconscious of herself, unconscious
of the influences that would bring to pass the decisive events in
the future. She was like multitudes of others who are controlled by
circumstances of their lot until the time comes when a deep personal
experience applies the touchstone to character.

CHAPTER II

GRAYDON MUIR

Madge Alden was almost seventeen, and yet she was in many respects
a child. Scenes portrayed in books had passed before her mind like
pictures, having no definite significance. Mr. Muir was to her like
some of the forces in nature--quiet, unobtrusive, omnipotent--and she
accepted him without thought. Her sister was one whom she could
love easily as a