mournful words of the first verse. She was
about to go on with the second when, Mrs. Harlowe appearing in the
living-room, Nora swung about on the piano stool.

"Finish your song, Nora," begged Mrs. Harlowe. "I am very fond of the
'Good-bye.' It is distinctly melancholy, but beautiful. To me, all
Tosti's songs are wonderful. The 'Venetian Song' and the 'Serenata' are
both exquisite. It seems a pity that the more modern composers have
given us so little that is really worth while."

"I know it. Still we have Chaminade and Nevin and De Bussy. Some of De
Bussy's tone poems are marvels. I love '_La Lettre_' and '_La Muette_.'"

"I don't think I have ever heard either of them," returned Mrs. Harlowe.
"I know very little of the modern music of the French school."

"I'll sing '_La Lettre_' for you." Nora faced the piano to render the
exquisite inspiration of the noted French composer. "Before I sing it,"
she added, turning her head toward Mrs. Harlowe, "I had better try to
tell you something about it. It is about a letter somebody writes to a
loved one, late in the night when everything is absolutely silent in the
house. Roughly translated it begins, 'I write to you, and the lamp
listens.' Both the words and the music make one feel as though the bond
between the two persons was so strong that they could almost communicate
one with the other by thought. That is really the idea De Bussy has
tried to convey in his music and one can't help but understand it. He
brings it out strongly in the last part of the song where the writer of
the letter says: 'Half dreaming, I wonder: Is it I who write to thee, or
thou to me?' Then it ends with a distant clock striking the hour. Listen
and you'll hear it."

Listener and singer both intent on the song, neither heard the
bride-to-be descending the stairs. Not wishing to interrupt them, Grace
paused behind the portieres that draped the wide doorway into the
living-room until Nora should finish. With her, "_La Lettre_" had always
been a favorite song. Long afterward, when the shadow of the unexpected
hung darkly over her, she recalled that significant moment of waiting.

"It is undeniably perfect," was Mrs. Harlowe's appreciative comment when
the last note, representing the striking of the distant clock, had died
away. "I had no idea----"

"Oh, Grace!" Nora's glance had suddenly strayed to the slender,
white-robed figure that was making a sedate advance into the
living-room. Whirling misc