“I should prefer something else. I don’t approve of singing popish music, however beautiful it may be.” “Well, what shall it be?” “Something of Handel or Mendelssohn, please. Do you sing, ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth?’” “I daresay I can sing it,” replied Euphra, with some petulance; and went to the piano. This was a favourite air with Hugh; and he placed himself so as to see the singer without being seen himself, and to lose no slightest modulation of her voice. But what was his disappointment to find that oratorio-music was just what Euphra was incapable of! No doubt she sang it quite correctly; but there was no religion in it. Not a single tone worshipped or rejoiced. The quality of sound necessary to express the feeling and thought of the composer was lacking: the palace of sound was all right constructed, but of wrong material. Euphra, however, was quite unconscious of failure. She did not care for the music; but she attributed her lack of interest in it to the music itself, never dreaming that, in fact, she had never really heard it, having no inner ear for its deeper harmonies. As soon as she had finished, Lady Emily thanked her, but did not praise her more than by saying: “I wish I had a voice like yours, Miss Cameron.” “I daresay you have a better of your own,” said Euphra, falsely. Lady Emily laughed. “It is the poorest little voice you ever heard; yet I confess I am glad, for my own sake, that I have even that. What should I do if I never heard Handel!” Every simple mind has a little well of beauty somewhere in its precincts, which flows and warbles, even when the owner is unheedful. The religion of Lady Emily had led her into a region far beyond the reach of her intellect, in which there sprang a constant fountain of sacred song. To it she owed her highest moods. “Then Handel is your musician?” said Euphra. “You should not have put me to such a test. It was very unfair of you, Lady Emily.” Lady Emily laughed, as if quite amused at the idea of having done Euphra any wrong. Euphra added: “You must sing now, Lady Emily. You cannot refuse, after the admission you have just made.” “I confess it is only fair; but I warn you to expect nothing.”