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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 4 5 6 Midocorr RKouinoN tbt chait (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) !■■ M23 U£ t^m lit ■ u 1^6 lit ■It ■ 4.0 u 1^ 12.2 2.0 1.8 /^PLIED IIS/MGE Ir 16S3 East Main SIfmI Rochester. Nm rorfc 14609 USA (716) 4*2 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288 -5969 -Fox I I i »• • •■' wj .TnTrrrpi-'^ r\ i % , 'A^' ^ By LILLA NEASE " Go, tittle bcx>lc . The old and wise Will view thee with suspicions eyes, With stare and furtive frown; But here and there Some gentle maid Will greet thee. Thou'lt not be afraid Of bright eye*, blue or brown." TORONTO WILLIAM BRIGGS MCMIII Bcurcd aocordiiig to Act of the Pkrliunent of Canada, in tbe year one thoiuand nine hundrr and three, by William Baisos, at the Department of Agricnlture. IN MUSIC'S THRALL. CHAPTER I. " PALLIDA MORS." A couN fRY school-house lies before us in all its chill bareness, uninviting, unpretentious, and suggestive of all that is unattractive to the youthful learners and the most enthusiastic teachers. A stony waste, unproductive of tree or shrub, surrounds the building, except at one side, where a few weeds and some herbage struggle for existence. A half-finished fence skirts the west boundary— the uneven supports defying any appearance of beauty or symmetry ; while the lack of trees in the front is sup- plied by one struggling hop vine, which, rear- ing its head, sinks down again unfruitful, abashed at its own daring. A little creek, at times, runs babbling along beside the unsightly fence, as though nature had by this one gift tried to atone for neglect IN MUSIC'S THRALL. and thrift; but even this one attractive spot is for the greater part of the year dry and stony, rendering the scene even more void of charm and grace. And to Marjorie Stewart, entering on her field of labor in the little village of Hillsview, this first glimpse was indeed disheartening, and the task before her — already a herculean one — became to her dainty poetic self even more distasteful than it had been ; for, endowed with gifts that might have, under brighter aspects, made her a successful tracher, she lacked what was the essence of success — a heart thoroughly in love with the work before her. So this un- congenial task loomed before this brave little lass with all the stupendous terror of the Scylla cliffs, and no sailor ever dared the dread straits with more trust and heroism than Marjorie this new life which was so far apart from " ways of pleasantness " or even " paths of peace." And Marjorie found that neither philosophical doc- trines nor reflections could reconcile her to her new position, till a new vista in country life was by chance spread out in its attractiveness, and the new life became a rare delight. I ,1 IN MUSICS THRALL. 5 How the door of Fern Villa ever opened to receive her, first as guest, afterwards as dweller, Marjorie never could tell; and yet, per- haps, she never penetrated far enough into the hidden life of its invalid owner to find reason for the good fortune that had opened its arms to receive her. Just to dwell within its portals as the chosen friend of the dignified white- haired woman, who with so much confidence and affection had taken the lonely orphan to be her companion and confidante, Marjorie felt to be the acme of happiness. How patiently Mrs. Graham listened to her daily trials, seek- ing by every means that luxury and wealth could devise to render the rough road more inviting and less wearisome ! Gladly would she have freed Marjorie from the thankless drudgery of her present position, but the inde- pendence of that little maid, coupled with an under-estimate of her ability to return by her companionship alone so great a debt, kept Marjorie at her daily duties. So time went by while the thread of destiny was being spun, and Marjorie, climbing the '• shining stairs of Love and Hope," little 6 IN MUSIC'S THRALL. dreamed in what short time all would be changed, and, descending again to loneliness and work, she would in new scenes recall the vision of those happy halcyon hours. The school had closed for the day. Her duties over, Marjorie passed along the country road homeward. The beautiful country lying before her suggestive of rest, the freedom from noisy pupils, the knowledge of work well per- formed, all conduced to a tranquillity of mind unprophetic of coming sorrow or alarm. Past the country station, where a few passeng-ers waited the belated train, Marjorie went unat- tracted by passing objects, as eager to enjoy companionship as the dear friend who waited so patiently and eagerly for her return. The anticipation made of Marjorie a new creature and lent a tender halo to the beautiful eyes and perfect face. Passing quickly along the walk bordered on each side by old-fashioned shrubs and flowers, she entered the door of the pleasant home. As she ascended the stairs and was about to enter her own room she stopped as she saw a woman, who appeared to occupy I I IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 7 the position of housekeeper, or even a more confidential role, coming towards her. " Oh, Katy; how is Mrs. Graham to-day ?" " Alas, Miss Marjorie, I fear she is worse ! I am glad you have come. She seems weaker, and to-day those old restless its which I have learned to mistrust have made the time pass miserably. Do not look so sad; yoi'.r music will soothe her as nothing else can. I can amuse her no more. It was a fortunate day when you came to Fern Villa, Miss Marjorie." " Dear Katy, Mrs. Graham cannot speak too highly of your help and comfort. We will, I am sure, see her strong and well again." Marjorie entered her own room and, quickly donning a pretty gown, refreshed and bright- ened, descended the stairs and, passing along a broad hall, entered a room at the end which from its situation gave a view of a pleasant lawn and spacious grounds. On all sides evi- dences of artistic taste with comfort combined met the eye. A low couch was drawn up to the open window, and the patient invalid watched Marjorie's approach and welcomed her with a winning smile as, holding out her IB IN MUSIC'S THRALL. hand, she drew her down on a low chair be- side her. "The hours are long, sweetheart, waiting for your return. I shall rob that school of its enthusiastic teacher before long, I fear. I wish you were with me always, Marjorie." " I fear I am not enthusiastic — I fain would be," replied the girl, " but if I would give up my work for anyone it would be for you, my truest friend." Marjorie soon had Mrs. Graham interested in the news of the little village, and by con- versation sought to dispel a lurking sadness; and somewhat of her own buoyant tempera- ment found an echo in the heart of her compan- ion. Then Marjorie rose, and pushing aside the heavy draperies that concealed a smaller room at her side, soon in touching, pleading strains she soothed and thrilled the listener, and when more triumphant notes rising filled the room, if Marjorie's dark grey eye took a deeper light and the pleading lips a more pathetic droop, it but betrayed a hidden sor- row—the longing, unsatisfied and uncontrolled, of a musician for her art. IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 9 Marjorie played on, forgetful of aught but her own enjoyment, till at last, as one awaken- ing to present duties, remorseful for some forgotten task, she left the instrument and rejoined her friend. Mrs. Graham was silent for a while, and Marjorie, understanding so well her moods, re- frained from speech, waiting for her to break the spell of quietness. " Dear Marjorie, how thoughtless of me ! We have waited longer to-night; you must be almost famished. Ring for Katy ; we will have tea served here. And you have not told me how school passed off to-day. Those little boys and girls— who are so interesting to me —have they disappointed you ? And then, dearest," and Mrs. Graham spoke hesitatingly, '* you must listen to me. I have been thinking much, and I feel that to-night I must tell you a story which will either make you a truer friend, or turn you from a peevish, uncompan- ionable old lady." "The last is among the impossibilities," laughed Marjorie. The entrance of a servant, bearing a daintily lO IN MUSIC'S THRALL. arranged lunch, was an interruption, and when Katy appeared later to see if her mistress was comfortable, she looked her thanks to Marjorie and went away happy and contented. When finally they were alone again, Mrs. Graham spoke. " You played to-night, Marjorie, as one who once was dearer to me than aught on earth. You may have wondered often why I, called cold and distant, desired you so earnestly to enter my lonely home, but later you must have guessed what first drew me, and what spell bound me. Day by day you recall by music's power the face and form of my loved one — my only son ! Little one, let me tell you with- out interruption a mother's story, a short one and a common one — the story of a mistake so deeply regretted and alas ! too late to rectify — and it is with the desire that you, my more than daughter, will accept the trust imposed, the" "o-night I tell you the past so freely. marjorie, I was proud of my boy — too proud of him; so noble and clever; a musician of more than ordinary talent. You will no doubt think it strange that I should have IN MUSICS THRALL. n striven to turn my boy from the life of an artist when I now seek and find comfort in music. I would not encourage, would not even listen to, his chosen plans, tried to interest him in other work; and when he left college, all that money and influence could do was brought to bear to have him drop his musical studies and enter some other profession. My entreaties were vain, and bitterly I upbraided him for opposing my wishes. ' You love your music more than me,' I said ; ' I never want to see you again till you yield obedience.' " My boy left his home that night, and did not return, or if he ever did I know not. Blind and angry, after waiting awhile, I sold the home of his childhood, and destroying all trace of my movements, I left the old house forever. " You will wonder why to-night I tell you this. I will explain. Dr. Manning was with me to-day and spoke plainly to me of my con- dition, and now I know that death may come suddenly, yes, at any moment. My own feel- ings tell me that I have not years enough left to undo the wrong, and, Marjorie, you must do for me the work I cannot. You must in return 13 IN MUSIC'S THRALL. let me give you what I denied my boy — a good musical education. I have arranged all with my lawyer, and have left sufficient to carry out my future plans for you if I die. The re- mainder, except a legacy to Katy, is willed to you; only you understand, dearest, it is in trust for my wanderer should he ever return. Katy willingly agreed to return to the village, her old home, to await his return. She will watch and wait if already there are not tidings there which will help her to find him. She has promised to help you, dear, so always keep her in knowledge of your address. I will leave a letter for him which he is to receive at your hands alone. Marjorie, wait ten years. If in that time you have no trace consider all your own; for I know that, if ever in your life you find him, all is safe in your hands. Marjorie, you will be rich— richer than ever in your day- Ireams or girlish fancies you imagined you would be. I know I am wise to trust you." Mrs. Graham lay exhausted. Marjorie had listened quietly to the recital, and now, as she could find no words to express gratitude or promise, she bowed her head over IN MUSICS THRALL. ,3 the reclining figure, and in close embrace, like Ruth of old, shed tears that told of sympathy and sorrow. •• There are some good things on this earth. That pass not away with the rest. But of all good tl 'ngs on this earth A faithful friend is the best." The evening shadows fell about them. As the silent figure, yielding to Marjorie's caress- ing touch, and gradually quieting under the influence of responsive feeling, sank into a deep slumber, Marjorie sat still in the dusky shad- ows, sensible of an unreality in it all. The sounds of country-life floated into the room. She noted all-the rattling of wheels upon the country road-the voices of happy children passmg along the orchard fence— the cricket's chirp, and, faint in the distance, the rough voice of the farmer, as he hastened the last work of the day by impatient commands to his little flock of helpers, leading the tired horses to water or driving the cows through the coun- try lane-the wh.p-poor-will's plaintive call, rarely heard, yet all the more welcome. Still she sat, noting carelessly the contrast 14 IN MUSIC'S THRALL. of scenes— without, Nature's panorama of luxuriant foliage and darkly shadowed nooks; within, artificial luxury, ease and affluence. In after years Marjorie recalled the scene. The listlessness and apathy seemed but the subtle influence of some magnetic power, too strong to be controlled by her own feebler will. As the quiet sleeper's heavy breathing passed away to quieter motion, Marjorie withdrew herself slowly from the detaining arm, and in the gathering darkness played melodies that filled the room with dreamy sweetness, gliding unconsciously from one song to another, till Mrs. Graham's favorite, "The Eri King"— ah ! now she knew too well what it expressed to the mother-heart — came in entrancing strains, as heralding another messenger, grim and relentless, or rose in triumphant song, weird and thrilling, as, passing through the portals into another world, the weary sufferer entered life immortal. A cry of terror rang with startling clearness through the silent house. The frightened in- mates gathered with hushed voices around the IN MUSICS THRALL. 15 couch of their dead mistress, and as Katy loosened the clasp of Marjorie's clinging em- brace, and saw the look of unsatisfied longing on that patient face changed to a look of peace and ecstasy, she rejoiced that, free from suffer- ing, her loved mistress had entered into rest. Marjorie had entered upon her legacy. CHAPTER II. The golden June days were fast disappear- ing. The dying splendor of this month of sun- shine and roses threw a bewitching glamor over the two idlers spending a sunny afternoon in Dr. Manning's pleasant garden. In the midst of enjoyment the memory of that one sad night was to Marjorie an ill-fitting prelude to these rare and perfect days; but to her faith- ful knight, the doctor's son, just home from college, the present was but a happy recollec- tion of the past. For were not Marjorie and June synonymous ? Indeed, for two years Marjorie had been so associated with his home- coming that the news of her departure was re- ceived by Jack with an air of positive injury. " It's hard on a fellow, Marjorie, just home for his holidays, and here you are — ^best bon- net on, trunks strapped, and its * Heigho ! I'm off a-maying !' " 16 i-K IN MUSICS THRALL. 17 "Be correct, Jack. I'd scorn to call this my best bonnet," and Marjorie dangled a huge sun-shade by its ribbon band. " We don't go maying in June, and my trunks aren't even packed, and won't be if I waste this pleasant afternoon." "All the same, Marjorie, you might have broken me in gently. Couldn't you stay a week or two longer and let the calamity fall by degrees ? I might miss seeing you for one day, then two, and so on, and adapt myself to country life without you. I shall simply c'^ myself as a sacrifice to the god of sleep. M. Somnus bring me dreams of happy bygone hours with Marjorie I" Marjorie laughed gaily, and leaning back farther, in the shade of the huge elm, used the brim of her broad hat for a fan, as she rested after a busy morning spent in preparation for her commg journey. How irresistibly dear the country seemed now that all nature breathed a requiem and flower and foliage vied in entrandng beauty while the perfume of the lilac hedge-great clusters of Persian beauties, with the delicate i8 IN MUSICS THRALL. white blossoms — recalled the happy days, lost, but not forgotten. But a short time had passed since Marjorie gazed for the last time on that loved form, and, yielding to Dr. Manning's request and his wife's earnest entreaties, had become an inmate of their happy home till she could form some definite plan for the future. A visit from Mrs. Graham's lawyer had shown her that her benefactor's request could be easily complied with, even if her own love for music had not decided her to pursue the pleasant course now lying open before her. Such magnanimity ! Her eyes filled with tears as the kind old lawyer congratulated her on her newly-acquired wealth, but, remembering Mrs. Graham's request, s' » considered nothing her own but what would give her a musical educa- tion. Ten years seemed a life-time to her, and, true to the task imposed, Marjorie never looked upon the fortune others believed to be hers but as belonging to him who would some day return to claim his own. When and in what manner the wanderer would return did not enter into her daily meditations. After parting IN MUSICS THkALL. 19 with Katy, the last link in the old life outwardly disappeared, and Marjorie soon learned to accept the homage of seeming wealth with the complacency of rightful possession, and looked forward to the future with a " calm, clear joy- ance " hitherto restrained by the necessity for untiring exertion. The " jingle of the guinea " added the indescribable charm of independence to Marjorie's sweet disposition and gentle at- tractiveness, and to Jack Manning, stretched on the grass, n, ng the dainty grace of every movement, a fear ca"ie that the Marjorie of old was fast slipping away, if not already lost to him forever. Perhaps Marjorie's assumption of indiflFer- ence was not altogether a characteristic trait, but as she noted the ardent gaze and too ten- der solicitude of her companion, it seemed best to check what she feared would prove dis- astrous to their hitherto pleasant companion- ship. It was indeed with regret that she was leaving this pleasant country home to find among strangers new friends and foes, but other guests were coming, and not wishing to mtrude too long in this pleasant household, she 20 IN MUSIC'S THRALL. had decided to visit the city, and make arrange- ments for a continuance of lessons she had been loth to lose. Mrs. Manning had gained for her a temporary home with a sister in New York, and all plans had been arranged for the com- ing journey. To-morrow Marjorie would fearlessly enter a new life to make of her Span- ish castle a pleasant reality. As if to dispel Jack's evident ill-humor. Marjorie strove to interest him in his coming duties as host. " And so your uncle and cousin will arrive next week ? I would like to meet Erica, in whom you have interested me." " Stay this week, Marjorie, and you will be repaid for the delay." " I fear the Greeks," Marjorie laughingly replied ; " but tell me about your coming guests. Has your uncle ever been here before ?" " Not since Erica was small. Father wished this to be her home after her mother's death, and Uncle Keith brought her down, but she would not be separated from her father, and although mother thought we could have won her to remain and she would have been con- ■J IN MUSICS THRALL. 21 tented in time, Uncle Keith took her back, and since then they have been inseparable. She has had more nurses and teachers than any child in Christendom, and has grown up neither odd nor old-fashioned— not the sort of child you would expect from such a childhood. She is rather clever, this little cousin of mine, as simple and unaffected as you can imagine. She has some, perhaps much musical talent, and Uncle Keith has given her every advantage in that way that could be desired. I have often talked to her of you and your music, and I shouldn't be surprised if she has coaxed uncle to bring her down solely to meet you." •' All the more reason I should leave and not disappoint the little one. But your aunt ? How long has Erica been under the care of nurse and governess ?" " Aunt Silvia died when Erica was a year old. She was my mother's half-sister. I have heard mother tell how happy they were. Uncle Keith, cold and austere to others, was ever tender and thoughtful for wife and child. He was called away one day; for you must know he is a doctor, though he gave up active prac- 22 IN MUSICS THRALL. tice after aunt's death. He was hardly gone when Aunt Silvia was taken alarmingly ill, and although they telegraphed, uncle could not be found. He had left the place he had started for and had given no information as to his whereabouts. However, they hoped Aunt Sil- via would be better when he returned, which was in a few days, as expected. But he was too late— Aunt Silvia died before he came. His grief was terrible to behold; he blamed himself for leaving, and thought that he could have saved her. But evei-ything had been done that money or skill could offer. For years Uncle Keith bore the mark of a great trouble, and although lately, as Erica is getting more companionable, he has relaxed somewhat from his gloominess and become more sociable, yet I believe he is void of any sentiment of affec- tion except for his little daughter. And she repays all the care and affection lavished upon her, for she is a delightful little creature. I hoped you would have met her, for until you do you will carry an imperfect picture of Erica Graham." At the sound of that familiar name Marjorie IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 23 started and a piteous look overshadowed the beautiful face. Jack hastily added: "Dear Marjorie, that terrible shock must not darken your life. That name startled you. You will often hear it- it is common enough." Marjorie was about to speak when Jack's loquacity gave her the information she sought. "I questioned Uncle Keith about relatives in this part of the world, and was satisfied even before asking that there was no -elationship between him and your friend. In fact, he is of Scotch descent, his father dying ^nen he was young— I imagine in Scotland— and an uncle educated him. However, to settle the possibility of any kinship. Uncle Keith came from Scotland but a short time before his marriage." Marjorie rose quickly. The scene had lost its charm, and she felt stifled. An oppression she could not account for had marred the beauty of that lovely day, and a chilling dread oppressed her that the unknown future into which she was entering with such joyful ex- ii if la-. i< 24 IN MUSICS THRALL. pectancy would be bound to the past by sor- row's aching hand. They wended their way to the house, and Marjone, passing up the broad stairs, was again busy in the last preparations, and with the hght-heartedness of youth soon forgot her fears. In the evening she stole away to the grave of her benefactor, and in the dying hght, clasp- mg the last message to the lost son to her achmg heart, she murmured: "My talisman agamst weakness, my inspiration leading to success. Even as thy love has supported me, thy memory will encourage and sustain me in adversity and suffering, if such be my lot." In the morning sunshine Marjorie left Mr Maiming, kissing the pale face of the doubly orphaned girl, found the sorrow of parting hghtened by Marjorie's promise to visit them as often as her studies permitted. "You will find my sister Marian a sym- pathetic and helpful friend, Marjorie. A fnend, Miss Gordon, is living with her now I have never met her. I hope you will find her IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 25 a pleasant companion. Good-bye, Marjorie, good-bye." Jack drove her to the station, and Marjorie was glad that the fast approaching train pre- cluded any lengthy parting. As Marjorie looked out of the window to nod a last farewell to Jack, standing discon- solately waiting for the train to move, she noticed a fair, graceful girl with curly locks surrounding a pleasant piquant face, coming quickly down the platform, followed by a tall gentleman, whose dignified bearing could hardly keep pace with his merry companion. As she came nearer, this little maiden rushed forward and her joyous "Jack !" rang out above the din of trucks and shouts of train hands. "Erica !" Marjorie murmured, and Keith Graham, following Jack's parting salute, saw a sad face half-buried in a bunch of white lilacs, and carelessly turned away. The huge black engine with roar and rush plunged forward as if ruthlessly rejoicing in the separation of loved ones; then quieted into steadier motion, as if, remorseful and repent- a6 IN MUSIC'S THRALL. ant, it woulJ atone for thoughtlessness and hard-heartedness with promises of speedy re- unions. And could the veil that concealed the cycle of the future have been removed, and the quiescent circle have moved other than in its allotted motion to reveal the secret of the Fates, how happily might all struggles have been ended and purposes have been accomplished ! Ah ! truly only the hearts that throb with pain and anguish can " interpret life and com- prehend its dark enigma." .V»*^j( /-",'vi^TY Of ,^ / • w v'* ^X J ^ A R :i C V * _> f CHAPTER III. In the beautiful morning sunlight, the first morning after her arrival, Erica Graham walked rapidly along the country road, revel- ling in the stillness and solitude with a keen pleasure which gave buoyancy to every move- ment and brought a winning brightness to the sweet, fresh countenance of the little maid. To Erica the longest summer day was short, and heralding with delight her uncle's permission to roam at will in the early morning hours, she had challenged Jack for a stroll before break- fast. Jack failing to put in an appearance, Erica, with perhaps a soupcon of relief from the necessity of companionship, chose the most un- frequented direction. The few laborers she passed at this early hour-for it was scarcely six o'clock— returned her friendly little nod, and many a backward glance was cast, as,' 27 /a 3 28 IN MUSICS THRALL, innocent of the notice she was attracting, she stopped now and then as some object interested and drew her atention. In some of the houses by the roadside the in- mates had arisen even at this early hour to per- form some of the day's routine duties, and these left their churning or busy house-work to gaze wonderingly at her. Erica, too, was not with- out her r -x's curiosity, and she did not fail to notice their surprised look. She meant to know them all before long; for she was lost without her retinue of friends; and even as she accepted friendship, so she left in return the brightness and warmth of a kindly interest in others, and was indeed as sunshine to many a weary and darkened life. Erica was not beautiful-the charm that won to her was not in perfect feature and faultless moulding-but the piquant face, with her saucy bright insouciant manner, won its way light- heartedly and informally into the hearts and lives of many, many friends. How pretty the country appeared; she would never tire of its freedom and freshness. Th^ fragrance of honey-suckle and the scent of the 1 3 i i 4 i IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 29 clover, the great red clusters of alsike and purple alfalfa, covering the fields in bewildering adornment, all added to her enjoyment of the walk, while the droning of the bee, now secur- ing a bounteous harvest, and the song of birds were at times the only sounds to break the silence. She was about to return, when, casting another glance over the enticing meadows, she beheld in the distance a church whose white spire was partly hidden by intervening trees She hesitated. By a straight path, cutting off the length of road, she could easily reach it, and the temptation was not dallied with. As she approached she was delighted to find that, un- live some country churches she had seen, this one was particularly pleasing to the eye-not blurred by the unsightliness of woni-off paint or decaying timbers. It stood apart from any buildmg. in all its purity, a holy thing. " bathed in the living glory " of the blessed sunlight. By its side was a little clKrchyard. fenced and trimmed with its prettily-arranged plots and pretty memorials, from the small stone markmg the resting-place of the little child to 30 IN MUSIC'S THRALL. the costly monument that so feebly expressed the love of the living for the dead. Erica stood by the open door and with her usual fearlessness entered the sacred edifice, and was surprised to find a woman performing the duties of caretaker at this early hour. Apologizing for intruding, she was welcomed by the woman, who bade her enter to see the church if she wished. Then the old woman went on with her work, while Erica passed up the centre aisle feeling that she was rewarded for her long walk by the one view before her. Thexhurch was indeed pretty in its simplicity. The light tinting of walls and metallic ceiling spoke to her imaginative nature of what she loved best, God's beneficent gift of sunlight, and, as she stood by the little pipe organ in the glow of the morning light, shining in clear translucent tints through the stained glass of the chancel window, bathing altar, desk and even Erica herself in the golden light, there came to her lips the words of the Psalmist, " In thy light we shall see light," and surely the light covered her as with a garment. " Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 31 thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun," she murmured, revelling in its effulgent glory. Then, attracted by the little organ standing in- vitingly open, she seated herself and the beauti- ful hymn, " Sun of my soul," rang out on the morning air clear and sweet. As she sang the old woman forgot her work. Nearer she drew till at Erica's final " Amen " she stood beside her. An angel voice had touched a hidden chord, and the hard-working woman felt the influence of the heavenly melody. An ejaculation of pleasure, hardly breathed, drew Erica's attention. " Oh, I have kept you," Erica said, with evident sorrow for her thoughtlessness. "Oh, no; although I am through. It was heavenly. Are you a stranger ? Will you come again ?" she asked, as if loth to lose her stranger guest. Erica smiled with her usual friendliness. " y*^, I will come and sing to you. I am Dr. Manning's niece, Erica Graham." " Then you are a relative of the Mrs. Graham Miss Marjorie lived with," she asked. " I have no relations in this part, but I have 3' JN MUSICS THRALL. often heard of Mm Marjorie, though I have «v.r n,,, h., oo you alway, att^d ,o I hurch a. .hi, early hour r she a*«,, a, he fonowed the old woman ,o ,he door. On ho. day, I do. The walk i, .a,ier in the^^ morn,ng. and Hive a . y, fr„„ .^e A, their pa.h, Mcmed to lie in .he Mnie d.ec.,o„ Erica joined her and hy ,nJZ 2" "°" "" ""' "°™"'» "«■«. »0 she be- came more tallcative as ,he not«I Erica', marked interest. She d,d not s,,.^, but we heard the word*-j„st as you sang them this morning. But we didn't Innk when Mis, Marjori. ...c ,;,» „;„ J - oo. that she'd ever be .he rich iady shet crea.lre ? ""' ""^^ "' °""^' *' ">«"«' crea.ure you ever saw. Never saw her like that was before she lived with Mrs. Graham- -.dp,aya„dp,ayti„rd.hi„klwa,inhe::e„. Mrs. Graham was pa«i„g one day and I «w her ,top, «,» come nearer, and. seated onll i -I 3 IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 33 steps on the church porch, she waited till Mar- jorie came out. Well, if Mrs. Graham didn't put her arms around Miss Marjorie's neck and cry, I didn't see straight. Well, soon after that Miss Marjorie went to live with Mrs. Graham, and then she went home every n'ght. I expect Mrs. Graham wanted her music all to herself. Rich people always want everything. You heard how Mrs. Graham died and left her all her money ?" " I knew someone had left her a fortune, but never heard how it happened." " Yes, Mrs. Graham died— just slept away. Miss Marjorie took on dreadfully. Now she has gone to the city to learn more music, but say, we will miss her. She played the organ every Sunday. Will you be staying long ? Perhaps you will play for us? " " I would willingly if father and uncle are willing. Good-bye," she said, as the old woman passed up a lane to her house. Erica looked at her watch-just half an hour, she would be in time. " Hello, Jack !" she called, as that voung gemieman leaped a fence, and took long strides IV t^ 4.> w .J L I G L I Li 1"^ A 34 IN MUSICS THRALL. towards her. " Whom have >ou been visiting in that pretty retreat, and what excuse have you to offer for your delinquency ? The next time I take a morning stroil with you it will be in the afternoon." "If your retrousse nose, freckles and red hair didn't proclaim you Irish, your tongue would, Erica. The people I've been visiting there went away long ago." Erica laughed. " It's a pretty place. I mean to visit them too some day." " Say, Erica, do you see those two fences ? Well, over them is our shortest cut home. I'm hungry; so are you. Don't deny it— you have a famished look. Now, no one is looking. I'll bet you a box of the best candies in our village store I can beat you in a race. One— two— three— off !" Erica's long limbs fairly flew. She skimmed the fences like a swallow, and as she reached the garden gate and walked demurely up the walk, she said to Jack, who looked down at her with a suspicious twinkle in his eye, " Tell it not in New York." IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 35 i They entered the pleasant morning-room, where, "mid roses and delicate china, sunlight and si i'cr^ the oth-r members of the family watcher! iheir app oach. " Why, Erica," said Dr. Manning, as they seated themselves, "you are a regular sun- bird." " Yes, the fate of the daughter of Nisus threatens her," said Dr. Graham. " What is that, papa ?" " She was changed into a lark." " May the daughter of the Sun exercise her power and change Jack into a woodpecker. I found him emerging from the trees around a little cottage." "Next to seeing Marjorie is seeing her home. If you had waited five minutes for me this morning I would have shown you the cot- tage." "Well, next to seeing Marjorie's abode is hearing her praises sung, and the same old lady tried to tack her benefactor on to our gene- alogical tree, but I objected. We have no re- lations in these parts, have we, papa ?" "Your papa disclaimed Marjorie's friend 36 IN MUSIC'S THRALL. long ago," said Jack. " You remember my speaking about her to you, Uncle Keith ?" " Oh, yes, an old resident, I believe"— " Not at all," said Dr. Manning. "Jack must have been about two years old when she first came here. She lived a quiet, retired life; her friendship for Marjorie was the one bright spot in her otherwise solitary life of suffering. She was a patient of mine, a woman of clear intellect and gentle refinement." " And, papa, Marjorie's music brought them together," and Erica related the old woman's story. "Yes, she died as Marjorie played; quietly and imperceptibly she slipped away. Her death was as sudden as I expected. However, Marjorie has recovered from the shock, and I hope wealth will bring her happiness. From an obscure school-teacher to a wealthy heiress is a sudden leap, and I believe except a legacy to Katy, an old domestic, Mrs. Graham be- queathed everything to her." Katy! that old familiar name. Keith Gra- ham had listened in grim suspense as the con- versation became of weighty interest to him. n^M IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 37 Katy f his mother's trusted, devoted servant, —his old nurse. Could it be that a few words had misled him years ago, when he might have found the lost and long-searched for loved one. So often the " ignis fatuus " had been pursued to bitter failure that mistakes had made him more guarded in his search, and he had surely misunderstood his nephew. Oh, God ! he could have cried out in agony. A thousand ques- tions rose to his lips, which, as if afraid of truth, he could not utter. The talk drifted to other subjects. He heeded not. Ag?».in private inquiry, a search, easier in its near possibility, was before him. And death! Oh, that tl/ clue might be false, he now prayed as earnestly as he had prayed before for success. How the agony of those few moments came ba k in other years— his silent arguments for and against that devoted servant, the old nurse; then her dislike for music, her rarely affection- ate nature, clinging to the society of this young girl— a mere country lass. He could only wait. He would soon know all. The morning meal dragged on and at last ended, and, Erica leading, they all passed into I;; I. 38 IN MUSIC'S THRALL. the sunlight. All day long Keith G.anam rea- soned and suffered in silence. Dr. Manning with kind intentions devoted himself to enter- taining this rare guest, so he was seldom alone. In the afternoon he accompanied him on some calls, hearing from rich and poor praise of Marjorie and regret over her departure. So the day passed, and seated on the broad verandah, in her favorite low seat by her father's side. Erica watched the decline of the sun, presaging another^ day as golden and bright on the morrow. She told all the day's adventures— among them her visit to Fern Villa, dwelling enthusiastically on its pleasant surroundings and its exquisite arrangement of rooms. I would love to live there in the sum- mer, papa, and Jack says it is to be leased just as it is." " So you and Jack have another excursion planned for the morrow. Well, I may visit the place when you are gone if Jack will trust me." " Good-night, papa." Long after the rest had been wooed by sleep, Keith Graham paced the garden walks, the IN MUSICS THRALL. 39 faint odor of his cigar alone betraying the rest- less steps, and when worn out with the same unsatisfying arguments and repeated thoughts, he sought his room and sank into slumber, its uneasiness picturing too pathetically the irony of that " Good-night." A r CHAPTER IV. "Dissimulation is absolutely necessary, and yet it must stop short of falsehood: That middle point is the difficult one; there ability consists." This maxim of Chesterfield's best defined Keith Graham's position the next morning, as again the family met in the pleasant morning room, full of plans for the day's occupation. To his overwrought, excited imagination each one seemed unusually bright and animated, happy and light-hearted. Truly no diplomat tried to appear more pleasant when grave, never chose his words more carefully than Keith Graham as the merry conversation be- guiled the morning hour. Yet to gentle Aunt Edith, the half-hearted interest, the air of weariness, was not alto- gether a successful concealment; and when Dr. Manning challenged him to another round 40 I I J i i I i IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 41 of visits, her kind interference, as she ralhed her husband on his desire for company, pro- testing at the same time that he should not drag his visitors around from one patient *o another, saved Keith from an actual refusal and gave him a promise of a morning free to visit Fern Villa and set at rest the doubts and fears that so ruthlessly oppressed him. Jade and Erica had in view a proposed drive to the neighboring village, and while they waited for the pony-cart. Dr. Graham care- lessly remarked : " I may walk over to Fern Villa, Jack. I will pass my opinion on the beauty of the place when you return, and if I may explore the in- side as well, can tell better if I can rest content with Erica airing her authority as mistress of this country-house." " Papa, it would be delithtful. Imagine liv- ing so near Aunt Edith !" " And Jack— don't I count in the family compact? " interrupted that young man. "Count? You are simply a calculating pencil. You multiply all the attractions. Jack 42 IN MUSICS THRALL. can come as usual and mourn for Marjorie in that sweet spot, with me to console him." "If there is anything sweet around Erica will have it, I'll be bound," said Jack. At last, after receiving Aunt Edith's com- missions, and with many injunctions to return by dinner-time. Jack and Erica were off, and after many trifling delays Dr. Manning started on his morning round. Keith Graham, iron- ically meditating on the importance of little things, felt himself free at last, and with as- sumed carelessness lighted his cigar and strolled away, finding in the necessity for action a relief from the restlessness which oppressed him, and eager to escape from the troubled sit- uation, fraught with so much sorrow and misery. Every step of the way was but an accompaniment to his sad, discordant thoughts. How often he had with bitter uncertainty pur- sued some slender thread of hope, frantically trusting that success would crown his efforts, only to be rewarded by disappointment and sorrow. And now the clue seemed stronger, the prospect of success more certain; yet he shrank with almost cowardly impulse from the #J; IN MUSIC'S THRALL. 43 disclosure which must " break the low begin- nings of content." And even as he turned the key in the lock he suffered the dread of the un- known with far greater, far keener agony than the reality, however poignant, could inflict. From room to room Keith Graham wan- dered in the silence of that haunted house- haunted indeed to him. An unseen presence moved beside him. The olden times, the days of youth, the mother-heart rose mystically from pictured nooks and ornamental treasures. He staggered among the mementos of the early days, knowing now the certainty with which his labor, his search, his pleasant dreams of happy days together were ended. All the pent- up emotion to be buried in the sweet realiza- tion of a mother's reconciliation burned and throbbed, as with a pathetic acceptance of the bitter reality he at last reached his mother's favorite room. The room was shaded from the morning sun, the blinds were closed; but his eye, keen to note the evidences of a mother's work, took in the tout ensemble, and once again he stood among his boyhood's treasures. It was as if a 44 IN MUSIC'S THRALL. word, a call, and the lost dweller was again with him, and as if seeking for her, whose presence alone could add the last touch to the perfectness of the reproduction, he passed into the adjoining room, md as of old seated him- self before his old instrument, and touched, lovingly, caressingly, this true, tried friend of bygone golden days. Years ago in his anguish Keith Graham had vowed never to touch again this fatal cause of all his loss and misery until he had found the one from whom he had been separated by its enthralling power, and faithfully had he kept i