"Perhaps," said Kate, smiling, "he requires the predominance of some one of these qualities to decide his character, as the slightly superior strength of the right hand prevents the awkwardness of not knowing which to use." "Very likely. Do you know, Miss Vernon, you think a good deal for a young lady!" "I cannot accept so insulting a compliment," said Kate, laughing; and rising, at Mrs. Storey's request, she went to the piano. "I want your opinion of this air--it came back to me in a dream some nights ago. A poor silly boy at Dungar used to sing it so sweetly, and I have never heard it since. I rather think it is a very old air that escaped Moore and Sir John Stevenson--the Irish words I never knew; but these I found among poor Mr. Gilpin's papers--they seem to have been written not long before his sister's death." And, after a few arpeggio chords, she sung as follows:-- "Look afar thro' the gloom, weary heart, To yon dim and faint revealing, The glim'ring ray Of distant day O'er life's troubled ocean stealing. It comes with endless joy, sad heart, A glorious sunburst beaming, With peace and love From heaven above, O'er sin and sorrow streaming. Soon the dark waters past, sad heart, Thou'lt rest in thy spirit home, Where we part no more From those gone before Across life's billowy foam. There no falsehood shall oppress thee, Nor sorrow's dark'ning gloom, For free is the soul That has reached its goal, In the world beyond the tomb." "Well, Miss Vernon," remarked Mr. Storey, "that's quite too melancholy a song for me--the dismals never suit my book." "My dear! it is beautiful, and made me cry, I could not help it!" exclaimed his wife. "You say the words are original," observed Langley. "Yes, I am almost sure they were written by Mr. Gilpin's sister, who died of consumption shortly before we went to A----." "They suit the air remarkably--the song makes an impression I shall not easily forget nor your singing of it," added Langley, more to himself than to Kate. "Now, Miss Vernon, may I ask for that march we liked so much, yesterday?" said Mrs. Storey, and soon afterwards they separated for the night. The next morning was most perseveringly wet, and both Mrs. Storey and Kate agreed that the most determined picture-maniac would hardly venture out in such weather. "But you will see, he will come for all that," concluded Mrs. Storey. "Then _you_ must receive him," said Kate, "I will not appear." "Gracious goodness," cried her hostess. "What shall I say about you?" "Do not trouble yourself to think--send for me, and the message I shall return will relieve you of all responsibility." "But if he insists on seeing you?"