The stranger reflected for a moment, then her voice again pervaded the air, as with the very soul of restful melody. As she sang, the child moved slowly toward her, drawn as irresistibly as the magnet to the loadstone, till she stood close to her side, encircled by her arm, and gazing at her with round, wondering eyes. As the song ceased, she slid her hand half-curiously, half-timidly over her shoulder. "Have you wings?" she asked, earnestly. "Did you fly down?" Before the visitor could reply, except by a swift expression of something like pain that flitted across her face, Astra appeared in the doorway. "Mother wishes to see you, and thank you," she said. "Will you step this way?" The lady rose, and moved quietly into the inner room. At sight of her face, Mrs. Lyte gave a violent start; the thanks she was about to speak died on her lips; she could only cry out in amazement;--"Who are you?" The stranger knelt by the bedside, and took both Mrs. Lyte's hands in her soft, cool grasp. "I am the daughter of your runaway sister, Aunt Katie," she answered, "and my name is Godiva Thane." "But she died, and she left no child," said Mrs. Lyte, incredulously. "She died in giving me birth," returned Diva, with convincing positiveness. "I have long suspected that my father did not let you know, he never forgot the opposition to his marriage; besides, he was jealous of his only child's affections. You must needs forgive him,--for he is dead." Several questions followed, on Mrs. Lyte's part; to which Diva gave long, detailed answers, skilfully contrived to satisfy her aunt's curiosity, tranquillize her emotions, and bring her, in a brief space, to a tolerably peaceful and composed state of mind. "Can I do anything for you before I go?" she then asked. "Nothing, dear, unless you will sing to me--a hymn; there are tones in your voice which are more soothing than any anodyne." Diva put her hand to her brow, and sent her thoughts back--a long, long way, it seemed to her--to a period in her childhood, when she had been under the care of a certain faithful nurse, afterwards discharged by her father for putting foolish, superstitious notions--as he averred--into her head. There she found two or three hymns; keeping tenacious hold of her memory, in virtue of their early grafting therein; which she sang in such soft, even tones, that Mrs. Lyte was first calmed, and then irresistibly lulled to sleep. The two cousins stole out of the room together. In the studio, Diva put her arms around Astra and kissed her tenderly. "Having found you, my little cousin, my art sister," said she, smiling, "I shall never let you go!" VIII. THOUGH HE SLAY.