They were two young girls, and both were inmates of a gilded palace of sin in the city. One was hardened in her sin—the other had waded only ankle deep into the black moat which circles the walls of perdition. The other night they went to hear the Jubilee Singers, and sat unnoticed in the gallery. The sweet, tender music, so touching and true to nature, entered like a limpid stream into the soul of the younger girl, and filled her whole heart. She leaned forward and caught every word, with her eyes shining and her red lips trembling. People turned round and wondered at the fair face, and watched her soul shining through her great eyes, but they never suspected who she was or whence she had come. There she sat, still and immobile, with her small gloved hands tightly clenched, and every nerve in her little body strung to an almost painful tension. All was still in the pavilion. The very gas lights held themselves motionless, as if afraid to make a sound. The great audience was hushed. And then a note sweet and tender, but full and rich as moonlight, swelled and rose like a sea, and then, like a shower of pearls falling through the sounding waters, a woman’s voice sang: Bright sparkles in the church-yard, Give light unto the tomb; Bright summer—spring’s over— Sweet flowers in their bloom. The girl in the gallery gave a great, shuddering sob. The singer looked up and went on: My mother, once— My mother, twice— In the heaven she’ll rejoice, In the heaven once, In the heaven twice, In the heaven she’ll rejoice. Again the girl in the gallery uttered a long, shuddering sob, and hid her white stricken face in her trembling hands. But still the music fluttered about her like the rustling of an angel’s wings: Mother, don’t you love your darling child? Oh, rock me in the cradle all the day. She sat still and heard till the last cadence of the music had wandered out into the moonlight, where the angels, who wished to learn it off by heart, caught it up, and bore it in triumph into Heaven. “I must go from here,” said the girl hoarsely. “Let me go, don’t follow me—I will be better soon.” Her comrade reasoned with her, but she kept saying hoarsely. “Let me go—I will be better soon.” She hurried out and fled like a frightened deer. She was mad! Her eyes were hot and dry—her brain was bursting, and all the while a wondrous choir was singing in her ears: Bright sparkles in the church-yard, Give light unto the tomb; Bright summer—spring’s ever— Sweet flowers in their bloom. She fled like a hunted thing till the lights of the city were far behind and she was alone on a country road. She stopped to rest a moment, but the chorus went onward through the sky and she could not stop, for the words were beckoning to her: “Your mother, once, Your mother, twice, In the heaven she’ll rejoice.”