And yet was he not to answer her, in the only speech that could not offend? Was he to act the coward, when there offered a chance of his establishing some subtle link with, her, of sending a message, of declaring his presence in this surely unobtrusive fashion? Quickly he sat down to the piano; and, in rather a nervous and anxious fashion, began. He was not a brilliant performer—anything but that; but he had a light touch and a sensitive ear; and he played with feeling and grace. It was "Kathleen Mavourneen"—and a sort of appeal in its way, did she but remember the words. He played the melody over only once, slowly and as sympathetically as he could; then he rose and retired from the piano; and stood in the darkness, listening. Alas! there was no response. What had he done? He waited, wondering; but all was still in the little street. It was as if some bird, some mellow-throated thrush or nightingale, had been warbling to itself in the dim security of the leaves, and been suddenly startled and silenced by an alien sound, not knowing what that might portend. CHAPTER III. AN APPROACH. There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" called out old George Bethune. There appeared a middle-aged man, of medium height, who looked like a butler out of employment; he was pale and flabby of face, with nervous eyes expressive of a sort of imbecile amiability. "Ah, Hobson!" said Mr. Bethune, in his lofty manner. "Well?" The landlady’s husband came forward in the humblest possible fashion; and his big, prominent, vacuous eyes seemed to be asking for a little consideration and goodwill. "I beg your pardon, sir," said he, in the most deplorable of Cockney accents, "I ’umbly beg your pardon for making so bold; but knowing as you was so fond of everything Scotch, I took the liberty of bringing you a sample of something very special—a friend of mine, sir, recommended it—and then says I to him, ’Lor bless ye, I don’t know nothing about Highland whiskey; but there’s a gentleman in our ’ouse who is sure to be a judge, and if I can persuade him to try it, he’ll be able to say if it’s the real sort.’" "All right, Hobson," said George Bethune, in his grand way. "Some other time I will see what it is like."