“Yes; how I listened to you every evening, and lay awake the whole night with the music ringing in my ears, till I tried to go over it myself; and so at last I ventured to sing aloud. I like that much better than learning to read.” All this was delightful to Maltravers: the girl had touched upon one of his weak points; however, he remained silent. Alice continued: “And now, sir, I hope you will let me come and sit outside the door every evening and hear you; I will make no noise--I will be so quiet.” “What, in that cold corridor, these bitter nights?” “I am used to cold, sir. Father would not let me have a fire when he was not at home.” “No, Alice, but you shall come into the room while I play, and I will give you a lesson or two. I am glad you have so good an ear; it may be a means of your earning your own honest livelihood when you leave me.” “When I--but I never intend to leave you, sir!” said Alice, beginning fearfully and ending calmly. Maltravers had recourse to the meerschaum. Luckily, perhaps, at this time, they were joined by Mr. Simcox, the old writing-master. Alice went in to prepare her books; but Maltravers laid his hand upon the preceptor’s shoulder. “You have a quick pupil, I hope, sir?” said he. “Oh, very, very, Mr. Butler. She comes on famously. She practises a great deal when I am away, and I do my best.” “And,” asked Maltravers, in a grave tone, “have you succeeded in instilling into the poor child’s mind some of those more sacred notions of which I spoke to you at our first meeting?” “Why, sir, she was indeed quite a heathen--quite a Mahometan, I may say; but she is a little better now.” “What have you taught her?” “That God made her.” “That is a great step.” “And that He loves good girls, and will watch over them.” “Bravo! You beat Plato.” “No, sir, I never beat any one, except little Jack Turner; but he is a dunce.” “Bah! What else do you teach her?” “That the devil runs away with bad girls, and--” “Stop there, Mr. Simcox. Never mind the devil yet a while. Let her first learn to do good, that God may love her; the rest will follow. I would rather make people religious through their best feelings than their worst,--through their gratitude and affections, rather than their fears and calculations of risk and punishment.” Mr. Simcox stared. “Does she say her prayers?” “I have taught her a short one.” “Did she learn it readily?” “Lord love her, yes! When I told her she ought to pray to God to bless her benefactor, she would not rest till I had repeated a prayer out of our Sunday School book, and she got it by heart at once.” “Enough, Mr. Simcox. I will not detain you longer.”