Annie Maurice was a little shocked when she first glanced at Caterham. The few days which had intervened since she had been to his room had made a great difference in his appearance. His colour had not left him--on the contrary, it had rather increased--but there was a tight look about the skin, a dull glassiness in his eyes, and a pinched appearance in the other features, which were unmistakable. Of course she took no notice of this: but coming in, greeted him in her usual affectionate manner. Nor was there any perceptible difference in his voice as he said: "You see I have kept you to your word, Annie. You promised, if I were in my easy-chair, that you would play and read to me; and here I am." "And here I am to do your bidding, Arthur! and too delighted to do it, and to see you sufficiently well to be here. You're not trying too much, are you, Arthur?" "In what, Annie?" "In sitting up and coming into this room. Are you strong enough to leave your bed?" "Ah, I am so weary and wretched alone, Annie. I long so for companionship, for--" he checked himself and said, "for some one to talk, to read, to keep me company in all the long hours of the day. I'm not very bright just now, and even I have been stronger--which seems almost ridiculous--but I could keep away no longer, knowing you would come to lighten my dreariness." Though his voice was lower and more faint than usual, there was an impassioned tone in it which she had never heard before, and which jarred ever so slightly on her ear. So she rose from her seat, and laughingly saying that she would go at once and perform part of her engagement, sat down at the piano, and played and sang such favourite pieces of his as he had often been in the habit of asking for. They were simple ballads,--some of Moore's melodies, Handel's "Harmonious Blacksmith," and some of Mendelssohn's _Lieder ohne Wörte_,--all calm, soft, soothing music, such as Caterham loved; and when Annie had been playing for some time he said: "You don't know how I love to hear you, Annie! you're getting tired now, child." "Not in the least degree, Arthur. I could go on singing all day, if it amused you." "It does more than amuse me, Annie. I cannot describe to you the feeling that comes over me in listening to your singing; nothing else has such a calm, holy, sanctifying influence on me. Listening to you, all the petty annoyances, the carking cares of this world fade away, and--" He ceased speaking suddenly; and Annie looking round, saw the tears on his cheek. She was about to run to him, but he motioned her to keep her seat, and said: "Annie dear, you recollect a hymn that I heard you sing one night when you first came here?--one Sunday night when they were out, and you and I sat alone in the twilight in the drawing-room? Ah, I scarcely knew you then, but that hymn made a great impression on me." "You mean-- 'Abide with me! fast falls the eventide The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!'"