A stranger would have thought of rats and the action of one of those rodents in what took place; for now that the panel had been slid back, all remained perfectly still, as if the mover were listening and watching. Then at last a thin, very white hand appeared, lifted the flowers out of the bowl, and they disappeared. There was not even a rustling noise heard for a few minutes, during which the sisters sat patiently waiting. At last there was a faint sigh; and a cold--so to speak, colourless-- voice said: "Is Gertrude there?" "Yes, dear uncle," said the young girl eagerly. "Anyone else?" "I am here too, dear uncle," said Renee. "Hah! I am glad to hear you, my children--glad to hear you. How is my brother?" "Papa is not very well, uncle," said Gertrude. "Poor dear, his cough is very troublesome." "Poor Humphrey! he is so weak," said the voice, in the same cold, monotonous way that was almost repulsive in its chilling tone. "Tell him, when he is well enough, he can come and talk to me for half an hour. I cannot bear more." "Yes, dear uncle, I will tell him," said Renee. Then there was another pause, and at last the thin white hand stole cautiously forth, half covered with a lace frill, and the cold voice said: "Renee!" The young wife left her seat, went forward, took it in her ungloved hand, and kissed it. Then she returned to her place, and the voice said: "Gertrude!" The young girl went through the same performance, and as she loosed it, the hand was passed gently over both her cheeks, and then withdrawn, when Gertrude returned to her seat, and there was again silence. "You are not happy, Renee," said the voice at last, in its cold measured accents; "there was a tear on my hand." Renee sighed, but made no reply. "Gertrude, child, I like duty towards parents; but I think a daughter goes too far when, at their wish, she marries a man she does not love." "Oh, uncle dear," cried Gertrude hysterically, "pray, pray, do not talk like this!" She made a brave effort to keep back her tears, and partially succeeded, for Renee softly knelt down by her side and drew her head close to her breast. "Poor children!" said the voice again. "I am sorry, but I cannot help you. You must help yourselves." There was a nervous, querulous tone in the voice now, as if the suppressed sobs that faintly rose troubled the speaker, but it had passed when the voice was heard once more in a quiet way, more like an appeal than a command: "Sing to me."