“Well,” continued Zenith, “if your opinion is the correct one, what have we to hope for in Mona’s case?” “Unfortunately,” answered the doctor, “we have no experience to teach us what to expect. We can only hope with you that she may speedily recover her voice, which has seemed to form such a great part of her, and has given us all so much delight.” Perhaps it was imagination, but it seemed to me that Mona’s behavior toward me was more affectionate than it had formerly been. She had told me before, to be sure, that she had loved me with all her heart, but in these latter days she appeared to seek my society more and to show other indications that her love was assuming more of the personal element for which I had once so assiduously sought. But how was it with myself? This question forced itself on me, one day, and I was a little startled to find that an answer did not spring up spontaneously. Was it possible that my love was becoming cold? I would not admit it. Just as the poor girl had lost her chief attraction, should I turn from her and forget all my former professions? On the first suspicion that such might possibly be my desire, I said it was a wicked thought and I should never let it be true. But even if I could not force my heart to remain faithful, no one should ever know it but myself. A little more time elapsed and I discovered that, in spite of my brave resolutions, Mona, silent, was filling less and less of my thoughts, and that I was living on the precious memory of her lost voice. But this discovery did not shake my determination ever to be to Mona herself a true and faithful lover. At this juncture I was sitting alone, one morning, going over in my mind the strange vicissitudes of my love affair, when, in a far-distant part of the house, I heard a sound which thrilled me. I stopped all motion and listened, my heart, however, trembling with the fear of a disappointment. The music, for it was sweet music to me, came nearer, and now I could not be mistaken. What joy filled my heart! How impossible to forget that voice! I sat still and let it come. She evidently knew where I was and was coming to find me, pouring forth her heart in the way she knew I adored. Where now were my fears that my heart was growing cold toward her? Could it be possible that I had ever doubted my affection for her since I first heard her sing? Nearer it comes, filling my ears now with its familiar melody, a song without words but full of meaning for one who hears aright. She is guided true by the lamp of love and is now in the next room. I cannot wait, but interrupt her song with this cry: “Come to me, my love, come quickly. I know your voice and the meaning of your song, and my heart responds to yours.” The strain continues, and soon a form appears in the doorway. I spring from my seat and start to meet it, but fall back almost immediately in confusion.