Randolph could not but enjoy the scene before him. It was a still soft moonlight night; the river rippled below, only making a slight lapping sound at the stone terrace wall. Roses climbed over a rustic fence—and flowering trees and shrubs seemed to scent the air around them. The old ship's guns looked strangely out of keeping on the soft turf, but chairs were drawn up round them, and Monica and Randolph took possession of them. Sidney sat on the broad low terrace wall. Without any hesitation or apology, she broke into song, and her voice, though not a powerful one, was wonderfully sweet and thrilling. She gave them a gay little troubadour song and an evening lullaby, then with her face towards the river and her back to them, she seemed to forget their presence, and sang her soul out in the following words: * "This is the way of it, wide world over: One is beloved, and one is the lover, One gives and the other receives, One lavishes all in a wild emotion, One offers a smile for a life's devotion, One hopes and the other believes, One lies awake in the night to weep, And the other drifts off in a sweet, sound sleep. "One soul is aflame with a god-like passion, One plays with love in an idler's fashion, One speaks and the other hears, One sobs 'I love you,' and wet eyes show it, And one laughs lightly and says 'I know it,' With smiles for the other's tears. One lives for the other, and nothing beside, And the other remembers the world is wide. "This is the way of it, sad earth over: The heart that breaks is the heart of the lover, And the other learns to forget. For what is the use of endless sorrow? Though the sun goes down, it will rise to-morrow, And life is not over yet. Oh! I know this truth, if I know no other: That passionate Love is Pain's own Mother!" * From "Poems of Pleasure." Ella Wheeler Wilcox. (Gay & Hancock, Ltd.) Sidney's voice was a naturally sad one, and though she recovered herself in the last verse, and her notes rang out in gay defiance, Randolph felt he had received a distinct shock. It flashed across him as she was singing why he had instinctively been feeling that he recognised her voice and must have heard her speak somewhere before. Now he knew that she had been his unseen neighbour down by the river in his cousin's grounds. "Teach me to forget" rang through his ears as clearly as her words were doing now. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, that he made no comment when the song was finished. Monica wiped her wet eyes. "My dear Sidney, you make me feel a perfect fool. Why do you revel so in sadness? Sing us one of your 'coon' songs." But Sidney would sing no more; she turned to greet her father and uncle, who had sauntered down to join them; and talk was of the lightest description for the rest of the evening. CHAPTER II A CRONY AND A CLIMB