We said or quoted something to the same effect in a preceding chapter, and added--that it was well that it should be so. CHAPTER VII. There are some moments in our fate That stamp the colour of our days. And mine was sealed in the slight gaze Which fixed my eye, and fired my brain, And bowed my head beneath the chain. L. E. L. Mrs. de Burgh soon after led Mary to the drawing-room, when all that was kind and affectionate, and calculated to reassure her young guest's mind, with regard to her previously conceived misgivings, was expressed by the former lady. They were, however--owing probably to the lateness of the hour, soon joined by the gentlemen. Mr. de Burgh immediately sat down by his cousin's side, and, as if with the intention of making himself more thoroughly agreeable than circumstances had previously permitted, he entered into animated discourse, in which, finding Mary perfectly able to sustain a competent and intelligent part, he had speedily passed from the merits and beauty of his children, and such like natural easy points of discussion, to some improvements in the grounds, in which his interest seemed to be at present much engrossed, showing more scientific and general information on the whole than she had previously conceived him to possess;--he, appearing on his part pleased to find so willing and intelligent a listener in his young lady cousin. Mrs. de Burgh in the meantime had, soon after the conversation commenced between them, called Eugene Trevor away to the open window, and conversed with him at intervals in a low, confidential voice, whilst turning over a pile of new music lying on the ottoman by her side. At last she called out to Mary, and asked her if she sung. Mary replied in the negative, but remembering well the beautiful voice possessed by Mrs. de Burgh before her marriage, she rose with glad alacrity to solicit a song from her. Mrs. de Burgh, whose question probably had been but a note of preparation for her own projected performance, smiled compliance with the request, and proceeded to the piano, whilst Mary, ensconcing herself in a quiet nook between the piano and window, yielded her senses to the soothing enjoyment which poetry and melody conjoined always afforded them; and Mrs. de Burgh sung that evening only English songs, with a beauty and pathos perfectly enchanting. "My spirit like a charmed bark doth swim Upon the liquid waves of thy sweet singing, Far away into the regions dim of rapture, As a boat with swift sail winging Its way adown some many-winding river." Many an evening Mary sat in that same place, and listened with never-tiring pleasure to the same delightful songs, but never perhaps with such pure, unmingled pleasure as had this sweet music on the present occasion inspired her. "Softest grave of a thousand fears, Where their mother care, like a drowsy child, Is laid asleep in flowers."