"Oh, you like it because it is new; you would soon tire of our quiet world, and I do not see why I am to be thanked for it, grandpapa"-- "What was it brought me to A----? solely my wish to see and apologise to you." "Captain Egerton, you cannot suppose I will credit such a _conte_; besides, it is not necessary; you see how welcome an old Dungar friend is; why seek to render assurance doubly sure, by trying to persuade me you came here in search of a person to whose address neither you nor any one had the slightest clue?" "Doubt my word if you will, Miss Vernon, I can only say that not many hours after you left the Angel Hotel, I there discovered traces, certainly faint enough, which were the cause of my visit here." At the name of "The Angel," Miss Vernon started, colored slightly, and then with a smile said, "Well, I can say nothing more. What a pity such energies as yours should be lost in H.M. Light Dragoons." "Then you have no very high opinion of my profession?" "Far otherwise, it is necessary, and what is necessary--" "Kate, my dear, give us that serenade I like so much," said her grandfather. Many a year is past since first those rich soft tones swelled on my ear, as Miss Vernon sang the following words, but they come back as vividly to my memory as if they had been heard but an hour ago! "Sleep, Oh, beloved! while with Angel guard I watch o'er thy soft repose; May the silent sense of my sleepless love Tinge thy dreams as thine eye lids close! Sleep, Oh, beloved one! sleep. "Breathe o'er her hushed and slumbering soul, Spirit of truth and peace! Whisper of Heaven, and love, and faith, Bid doubt and dread to cease. Sleep, Oh, sleep! "Then wake with dewy rosy lips, And eyes of deep calm bliss, To greet the heart that yearns for thee, With morning's loving kiss! Sleep, oh, beloved! sleep." The music was peculiar, and the last note of each verse sustained, and dying away with an expression of unutterable tenderness, made an indelible impression on me. "What a heart that girl must have," was my only clear idea, as I stood silent with folded arms, utterly unable to say a word of the exquisite pleasure she had afforded me. "After that," said Winter, at the end of a chorus of applause, "not another word or note. Good night, Colonel; you Nightingale, _la vostra bocca sana qual che tocca!_" I joined the others in making my adieus; heard something about Mr. Winter calling on me the next day, and walked to my hotel, through the moonlit streets in a state of trance, lulled by the music and indescribable effect of the whole evening, into a delicious calm, which raised me _pro tem._ far above all sublunary interests. CHAPTER V. SKETCHERS AND SKETCHES.