"O no! I remember all your favorite airs, and have played them a thousand times at least. Do you wish to hear me now?" "Certainly, I do; I have heard nothing so sweet as your voice, dear Edith, since I heard your last parting song." He rose and moved the harp forward, and seated her at the instrument. "Does not Miss Lynn play?" he asked, running his fingers carelessly over the glittering strings. "Who is Miss Lynn?" repeated Edith, with a look of inquiry. I laughed at her surprise and my own. It was the first time I had ever heard myself called so, and I looked round involuntarily to see who and where "Miss Lynn" was. "Oh, Gabriella!" cried Edith, "I did not know whom you meant. I assure you, brother, there is no Miss Lynn here; it is Gabriella--_our Gabriella_--that is her name; you must not call her by any other." "I shall be happy to avail myself of the privilege of uttering so charming a name. Does Miss Gabriella play?" "No, no, that is not right yet, Ernest; you must drop the Miss. Do not answer him, Gabriella, till he knows his lesson better." "Does Gabriella play?" The name came gravely and melodiously from his tongue. The distance between us seemed wonderfully diminished by the mere breathing my Christian name. "I do not," I answered, "but my love of music amounts to a passion. I am never so happy as when listening to Edith's voice and harp." "She has never taken lessons," said Edith; "if she had, she would have made a splendid musician, I am confident she would. Dear mother, when we go to the city next winter, Gabriella must go with us, and she must have music-masters, and we will play and sing together. She has taught in that old academy long enough, I am sure she has." "I think Gabriella has been taking some very important lessons herself, while teaching in the old academy, which chances to be quite new, at least her part of it," answered Mrs. Linwood; "but I have no intention of suffering her to remain there too long; she has borne the discipline admirably." As I turned a grateful glance to Mrs. Linwood, my heart throbbing with delight at the prospect of emancipation, I met the eyes, the earnest, perusing eyes of her son. I drew back further into the shadow of the curtain, but the risen moon was shining upon my face, and silvering the lace drapery that floated round me. Edith whispered something to her brother, glancing towards me her smiling eyes, then sweeping her fingers lightly over the harp-strings, began one of the songs that Ernest loved. Sweetly as she always sang, I had never heard her sing so sweetly before. It seemed indeed "Joy's ecstatic trial," so airily her fingers sparkled over the chords, so clearly and cheerily she warbled each animated note. "I know you love sad songs best, Ernest, but I cannot sing them to-night," she said, pushing the instrument from her. "There is a little German air, which I think I may recollect," said he, drawing the harp towards him.