"Yes, that is it. How lovely it is!--both words and music, I think." "Yes, it is lovely. It was written by a Mr. Lyte, when he was--" She checked herself, but he finished the sentence for her,--"When he was dying. Yes; I recollect your telling me so that night. Sing it for me, dear." She turned to the piano at once, and in an instant the rich deep tones of her voice were ringing through the room. Annie Maurice sang ballads sweetly, but she sang hymns magnificently. There was not the slightest attempt at ornamentation or _bravura_ in her performance, but she threw her whole soul into her singing; and the result was rich and solemn melody. As she sang, she seemed to embody the spirit of the composer, and her voice vibrated and shook with the fervour which animated her. Half leaning on his stick, half reclining in his chair, Caterham watched her in rapt delight; then when she had finished, and ere the thrilling music of her voice had died away, he said: "Thanks, dear--again a thousand thanks! Now, once more a request, Annie. I shall not worry you much more, my child." "Arthur,"--and in an instant she was by his side,--"if you speak like that, I declare I will not sing to you." "O yes, you will, Annie dear!---O yes, you will. You know as well as I do that--Well, then"--obedient to a forefinger uplifted in warning--"I'll say no more on that point. But I want you now to sing me the old-fashioned Evening Hymn. Ive a very ancient love for dear old Bishop Ken, and I don't like to think of his being set aside for any modern hymnologist,--even for such a specimen as that you have just sung. Sing me 'Glory to Thee,' Annie,--that is, if you are old-fashioned enough to know it." She smiled, and sang. When she ceased, finding that he remained speechless and motionless, she went up to him, fearing that he had fainted. He was lying back in his chair perfectly quiet, with his eyes closed. When she touched him, he opened them dreamily, saying, "'That I may dread the grave as little as my bed.' Yes, yes!--Ah, Annie dear, you've finished!--and to think that you, a modern young lady, should be able to sing old Bishop Ken without book! Where did you learn him?" "When I was a very little child,--at the Priory, Arthur. Geoffrey Ludlow--as Ive told you, I think--used to come out to us every Sunday; and in the evening after dinner, before I went to bed, he used to ask for his little wife to sing to him. And then poor papa used to tell me to sit on Geoff's knee, and I used to sing the Evening Hymn." "Ay," said Caterham in an absent manner, "Geoffrey Ludlow's little wife! Geoffrey Ludlow's little wife!--ay, ay! 'That so I may, rise glorious at Thine awful day!' In Thy mercy, in Thy mercy!" and saying this, he fainted away. That evening Algy Barford, at Lord Dropmore's in Lincolnshire, on his return from shooting, found a telegram on his dressing-room table. It was from Annie Maurice, and begged his immediate return to town.