Zuleime came freely to her sister now. She had her harp brought into her room. And she soothed the recluse with music every day. And at last Kate Kavanagh, who had gradually merged from nurse into companion, added her own rich, full-toned voice in accompaniment. The Misses Clifton were both very much surprised to see this “gift of gracious nature” thrown away upon a poor girl, with no hopes or prospects but manual labor for her living. And Zuleime, who could be thoughtful and benevolent in the midst of anxiety and sorrow, proposed to give Catherine lessons on the harp. But this was soon stopped. Both Zuleime and Catherine perceived that the music, far from soothing, seemed to irritate the invalid. And for this reason, Carolyn had lost her voice. She could never sing again. And even in speaking, her tones were harsh and rough. The harp was banished, and books were brought. And while Zuleime worked, and Carolyn fondled a little King Charles, that had been bought for the childish invalid, Kate read aloud to the sisters. And now it was that the world of _written_ poetry broke upon the maiden’s delighted view. Before this, she had never read a line of poetry in her life, except hymns—for Mrs. Clifton had judiciously suppressed all books of that nature. But now the treasures of Milton, Goldsmith, and Cowper, were opened to her ardent mind! Oh, those days that followed the convalescence of Miss Clifton—those evenings after Carolyn had gone to rest, when she and Zuleime would go into the summer saloon and spend the hours in music or poetry, or in talk as musical, and as poetic. Those evenings, spent with a refined, warm-hearted girl like Zuleime—they were unfitting her for her prospective hard life of coarse labor and coarser association. She felt that it was so. And she determined to leave. She only waited until Mr. Clifton went to Richmond and brought back his wife. And then she bade them all good-bye and returned home—not to the farm-house of Hardbargain, but to her brother Carl’s cabin.