She arose refreshed, and dined with the little party; and on retiring to the drawing-room, she invited Vizard to join them at his convenience. He made it his convenience in ten minutes. Then she opened the piano, played an introduction, and electrified them all by singing the leading song in Siebel. She did not sing it so powerfully as in the theater; she would not have done that even if she could: but still she sung it out, and nobly. It seemed a miracle to hear such singing in a room. Vizard was in raptures. They cooled suddenly when she reminded him what he had said, that she must stay till she could sing Siebel's song. “I keep to the letter of the contract,” said she. “My friends, this is my last night at Vizard Court.” “Please try and shake that resolution,” said Vizard, gravely, to Mesdemoiselles Dover and Gale. “They cannot,” said Ina. “It is my destiny. And yet,” said she, after a pause, “I would not have you remember me by that flimsy thing. Let me sing you a song your mother loved; let me be remembered in this house, as a singer, by that.” Then she sung Handel's song: “What though I trace each herb and flower That decks the morning dew? Did I not own Jehovah's power, How vain were all I knew.” She sung it with amazing purity, volume, grandeur, and power; the lusters rang and shook, the hearts were thrilled, and the very souls of the hearers ravished. She herself turned a little pale in singing it, and the tears stood in her eyes. The song and its interpretation were so far above what passes for music that they all felt compliments would be an impertinence. Their eyes and their long drawn breath paid the true homage to that great master rightly interpreted--a very rare occurrence. “Ah!” said she; “that was the hand could brandish Goliath's spear.” “And this is how you reconcile us to losing you,” said Vizard. “You might stay, at least, till you had gone through my poor mother's collection.” “Ah! I wish I could. But I cannot. I must not. My Fate forbids it.” “'Fate' and 'destiny,'” said Vizard, “stuff and nonsense. We make our own destiny. Mine is to be eternally disappointed, and happiness snatched out of my hands.” He had no sooner made this pretty speech than he was ashamed of it, and stalked out of the room, not to say any more unwise things. This burst of spleen alarmed Fanny Dover. “There,” said she, “now you cannot go. He is very angry.” Ina Klosking said she was sorry for that; but he was too just a man to be angry with her long: the day would come when he would approve her conduct. Her lip quivered a little as she said this, and the water stood in her eyes: and this was remembered and understood, long after, both by Miss Dover and Rhoda Gale. “When does your Royal Highness propose to start?” inquired Rhoda Gale, very obsequiously, and just a little bitterly. “To-morrow at half-past nine o'clock, dear friend,” said Ina.