“O! hush! hush!” cried Elinor, with her finger on her lip, as the rich mellow strains floated through the corridor, “I don’t think I ever heard such a lovely voice before. Whose on earth can it be?” The words of the song were in Spanish, and the only one they could recognise was the refrain of, “Seralie! Seralie!” But the melody was wild, pathetic, and passionate, and the singer’s voice was touching beyond description. “Some professional must have arrived at the Hotel,” said Margaret, “I am sure that is not the singing of an amateur. But I hope she will not practise at night, and keep baby awake!” Elinor laughed. “O! you mother!” she said, “I thought you were lamenting just now that your ewe lamb slept too much! For my part, I should like to be lulled to sleep each night by just such strains as those. Listen, Margaret! She has commenced another song. Ah! Gounod’s delicious ‘Ave Maria.’ How beautiful!” “I don’t profess to know much about music,” said Margaret, “but it strikes me that the charm of that singing lies more in the voice than the actual delivery. Whoever it is, must be very young!” “Whoever it proceeds from, it is charming,” repeated Elinor. “How Ralph would revel in it! Nothing affects him like music. It is the only thing which makes me regret my inability to play or sing. But I am most curious to learn who the new arrival is. Ah! here is Mademoiselle Brimont!” she continued, as she caught sight of Olga Brimont, slowly mounting the steep staircase, “Mademoiselle, do you happen to know who it is who owns that lovely voice? Mrs. Pullen and I are perfectly enchanted with it!” Olga Brimont coloured a little. She had never got over her shyness of the English ladies, particularly of the one who spoke so sharply. But she answered at once, “It is Harriet Brandt! Didn’t you know that she sang?” Miss Leyton took a step backward. Her face expressed the intensest surprise--not to say incredulity. “Harriet Brandt! Impossible!” she ejaculated. “Indeed it is she,” repeated Olga, “she always sang the solos in the Convent choir. They used to say she had the finest voice in the Island. O! yes, it is Harriet, really.” And she passed on to her own apartment. “Do _you_ believe it?” said Elinor Leyton, turning almost fiercely upon Mrs. Pullen. “How can I do otherwise,” replied Margaret, “in the face of Mademoiselle Brimont’s assertion? But it is strange that we have heard nothing of Miss Brandt’s talent before!” “Has she ever mentioned the fact to you, that she could sing?” “Never! but there has been no opportunity. There is no instrument here, and we have never talked of such a thing! Only fancy her possessing so magnificent a voice! What a gift! She might make her fortune by it if she needed to do so.”