Sheila had prepared a song for an encore, and Meg was nothing loath to sing it. But even then those listening were not satisfied, and the girl without thought and forgetful for the moment of Sheila, broke out into "The Last Rose of Summer." It was a song that she had not sung since her tramping days. After the first moment of surprise that the singer should have chosen an unaccompanied song the audience sat spellbound; for the extreme pathos and sympathy displayed in the voice touched them to an unusual degree. Meg threw out her notes with all the force and feeling of which she was capable, quite unconscious of the fact of Sheila sitting idle at the piano with a slight frown of annoyance puckering her forehead. As for the audience they scarcely missed the accompanist after the first moment or two, their attention being entirely riveted on the lovely girl standing before them singing her heart out. They were entranced. Then suddenly they became aware of a look of intense and sudden fear crossing the face of the singer, as her voice faltered. "It's a case of stage fright," whispered a man to a girl sitting next to him. "She'll recover in a moment." But Meg stood panic stricken, as she watched a young man vaulting the wire fence that divided the trees from the garden and making his way hastily towards her, his fierce blue eyes blazing in the sunshine and his tanned face radiant. Before the audience had had time to recover from their surprise the song had suddenly ceased and the singer had fled. Peter, who could not bear to see any living creature in pain, waited for a moment to see if Sheila was following Meg, and finding that she evidently had not thought of doing so, and, in fact, was trying to do what she could to make excuses for her to her guests, he went after the girl himself. He found her sobbing on the library sofa. "What is it?" he asked kindly. "Are you feeling faint?" But Meg was too overcome to answer. Her face was hidden in the cushion as she tried hard to stifle her sobs. "You sang so wonderfully well," said Peter. "You needn't mind in the least breaking down over 'The Last Rose of Summer.' Everyone will understand." "Sheila won't," sobbed Meg almost incoherently. "Of course she will. Your beautiful singing at the beginning ought to more than make up for it." "I wish I'd never sung it," sobbed the girl passionately. "It brought Jem." Peter looked mystified and began to wonder if the excitement had been too much for the poor girl's brain. "I advise you to think no more about it," he said, "and to rest here till all the people have gone. I'll tell Elsie to bring you some tea." Meg looked up again from the sofa cushion and shivered. "I'm afraid," she said. "Afraid? What of? No one will hurt you. You are unstrung that is all that is wrong. Tea will set you right." "No," cried the girl, "I've done a wicked thing. I've been a coward; I, who longed to tame lions!" and she broke out afresh into sobs.