Helena went to the piano, sat down, and began to play an introduction. Sebastian looked at Hugo, with ever so slight a shrug, and they waited. It was ‘Kathleen Mavourneen.’ But the faces of the two critics changed gradually from an expression of painful doubt and suspense, to pleased surprise, pleasure, and a broad smile of delight. A pure, strong, fresh, sweet soprano voice rang out. There was no attempt at airs and graces; the severest simplicity and the most unaffected tenderness sounded in every one of the true, clear notes. Mrs. Mallory watched her son covertly, but intently, and saw that Helena’s music had power to move him. The languor disappeared from his expression; his head was raised, and his lips parted. Song and songstress engrossed his attention. Mrs. Mallory’s countenance gradually cleared. As Helena finished, both Hugo and Sebastian sprang forward, with thanks and entreaties for something else. She paused a moment, and then sang: ‘Since first I saw your face, I resolved To honour and renown ye; If now I be disdained, I wish My heart had never known ye! ‘What! I that loved, and you that liked, Shall _we_ begin to wrangle? No, no, no, my heart is fast, And cannot disentangle. ‘The sun, whose beams most glorious are, Rejecteth no beholder; And your sweet beauty, past compare, Makes my poor eyes the bolder. ‘Where beauty moves, and wit delights, And ties of kindness bind me, There, oh! there, where’er I go, I leave my heart behind me.’ It is a sweet, tender, quaint old song, and Helena sang it almost perfectly. She rose when she had finished, and, looking at Hugo, asked him if he did not play. ‘Yes,’ said the boy, flushing; ‘but after your voice----’ ‘Don’t refuse, Hugo,’ put in Sebastian. And Hugo seated himself and began to play German music--deep, strange, and expressive, _con amore_. ‘But he is a musician--he must be!’ said Helena, turning, with wide-open eyes, to Sebastian. ‘Most certainly he is. I believe he has it in him to make a great name as a composer.’ ‘How delightful to have a talent, a genius, that gives pleasure to yourself and every one else! Is he a very great friend of yours?’ ‘Yes; he is my ward. I have been his guardian now for four years.’ ‘Ah! if he can compose, he has a life before him--a career!’ sighed Helena; and her eyes looked dreamingly and longingly before her. Sebastian felt strangely attracted to the girl, but as yet he felt he knew her too little to know whether he should even like her. The explanation he had to make would serve to bring out some fresh point in her character. Mrs. Mallory was knitting fleecy-white wool by the fireside, and seemed able to give up Helena’s society on this occasion. Hugo’s fingers wandered on in one melody after another--melodies like those which Adrienne Blisset’s fingers most readily wove. Helena herself gave Sebastian the opportunity he wished for.