“Do let us hear it, papa,” she murmured, “but let it be in harmony with gathering stars and slanting moonbeams, and let it have a true golden tinge from the sunset which lights up the gloaming.” “And do let us hear it!” echoed Margaret, turning quite away from the moon, which was just rising. “And of what shall it be?” asked Father Bromley, as he looked inquiringly from one to the other. “O, something that will please Alice!” returned the sweet girl. “For who knows how many times we shall have it in our power to please her,” she thought but did not say, for all of that household knew that sooner or later death would knock at their door. There was a long pause, and then Alice said-- “Let it be of the picture, with the angel-face, which hangs in the green parlor?” There must have been strange thoughts suggested by it, for her face in the white moonshine grew a shade paler, and her hands trembled a little, as if nervously affected, but no one noticed it. There was another pause, and then she continued, as if to explain the reason of her wish-- “I have been reading to-day a beautiful poem, in which a lovely lady died of a broken heart, and her spirit nightly haunted her old home. Thinking on the sad tale, I paused to weep, and sat for a few moments with shut eyes. When I opened them, the first thing that I saw was the portrait, and--will you believe it?--it had acquired a new sadness, such as I never saw on a mortal face. It seemed to be looking at me with an incomprehensible intensity of earnestness; and, as I still gazed, a tear--I saw it as plainly as I see the moon--started in the eyes, and rolled down the face. And then another, and another,” she went on in higher tones, as if trying to impress a burning truth on incredulous listeners, “and all the while it looked at me so sadly--but not with pity, and seemed so to invite me, that I fancied that I heard the lips say--‘Come!’ _That_ was _only_ fancy, but, as I live, I saw it weep.” Father Bromley looked with deep and tender anxiety upon the pale face at his side. He well knew of a report, formerly current in the house, to the effect that this same picture was seen to shed tears just before the death of any member of the family. But this piece of information he restrained, justly deeming it not pertinent for the occasion. Margaret looked anxious and perplexed, but said nothing; and the father, after a little pause, began--in a low voice--his tale. Let us listen, dear reader, seated attentively on the sward, at the corner of the dim old mansion. We may be as sceptical as we please, since neither of us ever saw a strip of painted canvas, in a gilt frame, weep.