The Colonel had letters to write, and his granddaughter's visits to my impromptu studio, if fewer, were more confidential. She told me of the long visits she had paid to Lady Desmond, both in London and Dublin, and of the delightful singing lessons she had taken in the former place, adding that she owed her first and last peep at the great and gay world to her cousin. It appeared that Lady Desmond had been displeased with her for returning to Dungar, and had not written to her for a long time. "But you know," said Kate, "grandpapa was about to leave Dungar then, and I could not let him do so alone, nor go away without a last look at my old happy home." All this was told in a low tone, as if she did not wish the Colonel to overhear it, and in a confidential manner inexpressibly delightful to me. She had knelt down to caress Cormac, and after remaining for some seconds rolling up his long ear thoughtfully, looked up suddenly in my face and added, "I did not intend to bore you with such a long prose about my difficulties with Georgina; the reason I mentioned the subject at all was because I heard you tell grandpapa you had a sister at Naples. Lady Desmond was there, I heard, about a month ago, and I wish you would ask your sister, when you write, if she knows anything of her; I cannot bear to lose sight of her so completely." I promised very readily to do as she desired, though I warned her it might be months before I would get any reply, as my sister was but a careless correspondent. "Thanks, and I will not interrupt you any more." "You do not interrupt me in the least, I assure you; but if you are determined to go, perhaps you will sing. I see Colonel Vernon shutting his writing desk." "With pleasure; would you like an Irish melody?" "Beyond every thing." And the next minute her rich voice was pouring forth in a full tide of sweetness, "Has sorrow thy young days shaded?" I soon dropped my pencil, and even after the last notes had died away, remained listening for their renewal; then collecting my drawing materials, I rose, and promising Miss Vernon to finish the sketch from memory, I invited the Colonel to accompany me on a visit of ceremony to Mrs. Winter; it was succeeded by another peep at the studio, a walk with the Colonel, and then came the pleasant friendly dinner, the frank cheerful interchange of thought, the after-dinner cup of coffee and stroll in the pleasure ground to look at the moon reflected in the river; while Miss Vernon, courteously anxious to give me what she prized herself, gathered a bouquet of her choicest autumnal flowers, "to make me forget that horrid Carrington, at least in my own room," she said; her grandfather laughing at the idea of her expecting I should care for such things. How delightfully homelike it all was. Finally she sang me the serenade that had so enchanted me, and before the last notes were well hushed, Nurse announced the cab I had ordered to convey me to the railway.