We all gathered in the old parlor, and spent an hour that I shall never forget. I had a tolerable tenor, and an ear made fairly correct by hearing much music. Mr. Hearn did not sing, but he seemingly entered into the spirit of the occasion. Before very long Miss Warren and I were singing some things together. Mr. Hearn no doubt compared our efforts unfavorably with what he had heard in the city, but the simple people of the farmhouse were much pleased, and repeatedly asked us to continue. As I was leaning over Miss Warren's shoulder, finding a place in the hymn-book on the stand, she breathed softly: "Have you told them you are going to-morrow?" "No," I replied. "Can you leave such friends?" "Yes." "You ought not. It would hurt them cruelly;" and she made some runs on the piano to hide her words. "If _you_ say I ought not to go, I'll stay--Ah, this is the one I was looking for," I said, in a matter-of-fact tone; but she played the music with some strange slips and errors; her hands were nervous and trembling, and never was the frightened look that I had seen before more distinctly visible. After we had sung a stanza or two she rose and said, "I think I'm getting a little tired, and the room seems warm. Wouldn't you like to take a walk?" she asked Mr. Hearn, coming over to his side. He arose with alacrity, and they passed out together. I did not see her again that night. The next morning, finding me alone for a moment, she approached, hesitatingly, and said: "I don't think I ought to judge for you." "Do you wish me to go?" I asked, sadly, interpreting her thought. She became very pale, and turned away as she replied, "Perhaps you had better. I think you would rather go." "No, I'd rather stay; but I'll do as you wish." She did not reply, and went quickly to her piano. I turned and entered the dining-room where Mrs. Yocomb and Adah were clearing away the breakfast. Mr. Yocomb was writing in his little office adjoining. "I think it is time I said good-by and went back to New York." In the outcry that followed, Miss Warren's piano became silent. "Richard Morton!" Mrs. Yocomb began almost indignantly, "if thee hasn't any regard for thyself, thee should have some for thy friends. Thee isn't fit to leave home, and this is thy home now. Thee doesn't call thy hot rooms in New York home, so I don't see as thee has got any other. Just so sure as thee goes back to New York now, thee'll be sick again. I won't hear to it. Thee's just beginning to improve a little." Adah looked at me through reproachful tears, but she did not say anything. Mr. Yocomb dropped his pen and came out, looking quite excited: "I'll send for Doctor Bates and have him lay his commands on thee," he said. "I won't take thee to the depot, and thee isn't able to walk half way there. Here, Emily, come and talk reason to this crazy man. He says he's going back to New York. He ought to be put in a strait-jacket. Doesn't thee think so?"