“O, sir, I have only nursery ditties, caught from our old German maid,” cried Aurelia, in dismay. “That might not diminish the charm to me,” he said. “In especial there was one song whose notes Jumbo caught as you accompanied yourself on the spinnet.” And Jumbo, who seemed able to see in the dark, played a bar on his violin, while Aurelia trembled with shyness. “The Nightingale Song,” she said. “My dear mother learnt the tune abroad. And I believe that she herself made the English words, when she was asked what the nightingales say.” “May I hear it? Nightingales can sing in the dark.” Refusal was impossible, and Jumbo’s violin was a far more effective accompaniment than her own very moderate performance on the spinnet; so in a sweet, soft, pure, untrained and trembling voice, she sang-- “O Life and Light are sweet, my dear, O life and Light are sweet; But sweeter still the hope and cheer When Love and Life shall meet. Oh! then it is most sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet. “But Love puts on the yoke, my dear, But Love puts on the yoke; The dart of Love calls forth the tear, As though the heart were broke. The very heart were broke, broke, broke, broke, broke, broke. “And Love can quench Life’s Light, my dear, Drear, dark, and melancholy; Seek Light and Life and jocund cheer, And mirth and pleasing folly. Be thine, light-hearted folly, folly, folly, folly, folly, folly. “‘Nay, nay,’ she sang. ‘yoke, pain, and tear, For Love I gladly greet; Light, Life, and Mirth are nothing here, Without Love’s bitter sweet. Give me Love’s bitter sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet.’” “Accept my fervent thanks, kind songstress. So that is the nightingale’s song, and your honoured mother’s?” “Yes, sir. My father often makes us sing it because it reminds him of her.” “Philomel could not have found a better interpreter,” said the grave voice, sounding so sad that Aurelia wished she could have sung something less affecting to his spirits. “I gather from what you said that you are no longer blessed with the presence of the excellent lady, your mother,” presently added Mr. Belamour. “No, sir. We lost her seven years ago.” “And her husband mourns her still. Well he may. She was a rare creature. So she is gone! I have been so long in seclusion that no doubt time has made no small havoc, and my friends have had many griefs to bewail.” Aurelia knew not what answer to make, and was relieved when he collected himself and said:-- “I will trespass no longer on my fair visitor’s complaisance, but if she have not found the gloom of this apartment insupportable, it would be a charitable action to brighten it once more with her presence.” “O sir, I will come whenever you are pleased to send for me,” she exclaimed, all her doubts, fears, and scruples vanishing at his tone of entreaty. “My father would be so glad. I will practise my best song to sing to you to-morrow.”