"I want very much to go, Charles. Will you come home with me? I have all sorts of favors to ask you, and that is the first." "But, sir, Miss Lawrence is going to the piano: will not you play first?" "Not at all to-night; we agreed. There are many here who would rather be excused from music; they can get it at the opera." He laughed, and so did I. He then placed his other hand on Starwood, still touching my shoulder, when Miss Lawrence approached,-- "Sir, you know what you said, nor can I ask you to retract it. But may I say how sorry I am to have been so exacting this morning? It was a demand upon your time I would not have made had I known what I now know." "What is that? Pray have the goodness to tell me, for I cannot imagine." "That you have brought with you what calls upon every one to beware how he or she engages you with trifles, lest they suffer from that repentance which comes too late. I hear of your great work, and shall rely upon you to allow me to assist you, if it be at all possible I can, in the very least and lowest degree." She spoke earnestly, with an eager trouble in her air. He smiled serenely. "Oh! you quite mistake my motive, Miss Lawrence; it had not to do with music. It was because I have had no sleep that I wished to retire early; and you must permit me to make amends for my awkwardness. If it will not exhaust your guests, as I see you were about to play, let me make the opening, and oblige me by choosing what you like best." "Sir, I cannot refuse, selfish as I am, to permit myself such exquisite pleasure. There is another thirsty soul here who will be all the better for a taste of heavenly things." She turned to me elated. I looked into his face; he moved to the piano, made no gesture either of impatience or satisfaction, but drew the stool to him, and when seated, glanced to Miss Lawrence, who stood beside him and whispered something. I drew, with Starwood, behind, where I could watch his hands. He played for perhaps twenty minutes,--an _andante_ from Beethoven, an _allegro_ from Mozart, an _aria_ from Weber, cathedral-echoes from Purcell, fugue-points from Bach; and mixing them like gathered flowers, bound them together with a wild, delicious _scherzo finale_, his own. But though that playing was indeed unto me as heaven in forecast, and though it filled the heart up to the brim, it was extremely cold, and I do not remember ever feeling that he was separable from his playing before. When he arose so quietly, lifting his awful forehead from the curls that had fallen over it as he bent his face, he was unflushed as calm, and he instantly shook hands with Miss Lawrence, only leaving her to leave the room. I followed him naturally, remembering his request; but she detained me a moment to say,-- "You must come and see me on Thursday, and must also come to breakfast. I shall be alone, and have something to show you. You are going along with him, I find,--so much the better; take care of him, and good night."