The service seemed wonderfully sweet to her that night. The hymns and anthems were triumphant and inspiring, and the sermon was simple, earnest and comforting. Louis found his places, and used his little book sedulously, and Margaret felt intuitively that this service was sweet to him also. As she glanced at him occasionally, she saw that his face looked serious and a little careworn, now that she saw it in such perfect repose. The sermon was ended now. The congregation had risen at its termination, and had settled again in their seats. The wardens were walking up the aisle to receive the alms-basins, when the organ began to murmur a low prelude. Louis and Margaret glanced at each other quickly. It was the _Cantique de Noël_. Margaret leaned back in her seat, serene and restful, prepared for a deep enjoyment of the pleasure before her, and at that moment a rich, sweet voice, high up in the choir behind her began: “Oh, holy night----” At the first note uttered by that voice the color rushed to Miss Trevennon’s cheeks, and she drew in her breath with a sound that was almost a gasp. And up on high the beautiful voice sang on: “It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth.” Higher and sweeter it soared--thrilling, rich, pathetic--and how familiar to the young girl’s ears was every modulation and inflection! How often had that flood of melody been poured forth, for her ear alone, in the old parlor at home! It was Charley Somers, and she knew that he had seen her, and that he was singing to her now, no less than then. She listened, as in a dream, while the wistful, yearning voice sang on. And now came the words: “Fall on your knees! fall on your knees!” They were somewhat indistinct, in their mingling of sweet sounds, and, in some vague way, it seemed to Margaret that they were a direct appeal from Charley Somers to her for mercy and pardon. It was all so moving, and Gaston felt so touched by it himself, that it scarcely surprised him when he glanced at Margaret, as the sweet voice died away, to see that her eyes were full of tears. As they knelt for the concluding prayer she brushed away the traces of these, and when they walked down the aisle together her calmness had quite returned. And how calm and quiet her companion looked! His perfectly chosen clothes, the smooth neatness of his short, dark hair, and, more than all, his self-collected bearing and thoughtful face, made him a contrast to the rather carelessly dressed young man, with dishevelled, curly locks, and eager, restless eyes, who stood in the vestibule, at the foot of the gallery steps, rapidly scanning the faces of the dispersing congregation, in complete unconsciousness of the fact that his somewhat singular conduct and appearance were being observed by those around him. As his restless gaze at last fell upon Miss Trevennon, his knit brows relaxed, and he pressed forward.