She strove to listen attentively, and appear interested in it all, but it was hard work, and although she was exceedingly kind and gracious to all whom she met, and won for herself high encomiums for her sweetness among his people, yet her heart was not in it, and she was immensely relieved when they turned their steps homeward. On their way they had to pass the villa before described. Just before reaching it, Sir Charles had called her attention to a lovely view. They stood silent for several minutes enjoying it, when suddenly a few rich chords, struck upon a fine-toned piano, saluted their ears, and then a voice of ravishing sweetness and power burst forth into joyous song. Isabel started at the sound as if a wasp had stung her. “Who is that?” she demanded, her face flushing with a sudden thought and fear. “It comes from yonder villa. Did it startle you?” asked Sir Charles, regarding her disturbed manner with some surprise. “A little—it was so quiet before.” “I think it very fine,” he replied, stopping to listen again to the clear, beautiful tones. “Who lives there?” Isabel asked, an anxious expression on her face. “Lady Ruxley, an aged aunt of my mother’s.” “Indeed! I thought she resided with you,” she said, wondering why a lady of such high degree should be living in what appeared to her such limited quarters. She had heard of Lady Ruxley before, and knew that it was from her Sir Charles was to inherit a large amount of his property. She had never met her, although she was quite curious about her, having heard much about her peculiarities. “Lady Ruxley always makes her home with us while we are in town, but when we come to Vallingham Hall she prefers to be by herself, and a few years since she had this villa built, so as to escape the gayety and confusion which always reign there,” Sir Charles explained. “Does she live alone?” Isabel queried, with a thoughtful look. “She has never had any one but her servants, until within the past few years she has had a companion to read to and amuse her. She is quite old.” “Ah, then it must be her companion who is singing now,” and she leaned eagerly forward to listen again. “Who is she?” she asked, somewhat sharply, when after a moment the sweet singer suddenly ceased. “I really do not remember the name—some unfortunate individual, I believe, who met with an accident, enlisted Aunt Ruxley’s sympathies, and she insisted upon having her as a companion. I have never seen her. Indeed,” he added, smiling, “my time has been so fully occupied in another direction lately that I have not paid much attention to other people’s affairs,” and Sir Charles bestowed a fond look upon his betrothed, which called the bright color to her cheeks, and the smile to her lips again. She asked no more questions, and they remained a few moments longer gazing into the valley; then, as the sun sank out of sight, and the air began to grow keener, they turned their faces homeward.