"Yes," said Jane. "I told you I was packing." She came slowly across the room, and stood on the hearth-rug looking down at him. He was in full evening-dress; just as at Shenstone on that memorable night; and, as he sat well back in his deep arm-chair, one knee crossed over the other, she saw the crimson line of his favourite silk socks. Jane stood looking down upon him. Her hour had come at last. But even now she must, for his sake, be careful and patient. "I did not hear the song," she said. "No," replied Garth. "At first, I forgot. And when I remembered, I had been thinking of other things, and somehow--ah, Miss Gray! I cannot sing to-night. My soul is dumb with longing." "I know," said Jane, gently; "and I am going to sing to you." A faint look of surprise crossed Garth's face. "Do you sing?" he asked. "Then why have you not sung before?" "When I arrived," said Jane, "Dr. Rob asked me whether I played. I said: 'A little.' Thereupon he concluded I sang a little, too; and he forbade me, most peremptorily, either to play a little; or sing a little, to you. He said he did not want you driven altogether mad." Garth burst out laughing. "How like old Robbie," he said. "And, in spite of his injunctions, are you going to take the risk, and 'sing a little,' to me, to-night?" "No," said Jane. "I take no risks. I am going to sing you one song. Here is the purple cord, at your right hand. There is nothing between you and the piano; and you are facing towards it. If you want to stop me--you can come." She walked to the instrument, and sat down. Over the top of the grand piano, she could see him, leaning back in his chair; a slightly amused smile playing about his lips. He was evidently still enjoying the humour of Dr. Rob's prohibition. The Rosary has but one opening chord. She struck it; her eyes upon his face. She saw him sit up, instantly; a look of surprise, expectation, bewilderment, gathering there. Then she began to sing. The deep rich voice, low and vibrant, as the softest tone of 'cello, thrilled into the startled silence. "The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, Are as a string of pearls to me; I count them over, ev'ry one apart, My rosary,--my rosary. Each hour a pearl--" Jane got no further. Garth had risen. He spoke no word; but he was coming blindly over to the piano. She turned on the music-stool, her arms held out to receive him. Now he had found the woodwork. His hand crashed down upon the bass. Now he had found her. He was on his knees, his arms around her. Hers enveloped him--, yearning, tender, hungry with the repressed longing of all those hard weeks. He lifted his sightless face to hers, for one moment. "You?" he said. "YOU? You--all the time?" Then he hid his face in the soft lace at her breast.