“I do not come and hear you play often, for aunty thinks music frivolous, but I am always hearing you no matter where I am, and it makes me feel as if I were far away from everybody, in a beautiful land all sunshine and flowers. But nurse says I must not write so much or you will not read it, so I will stop here. But if you _would_ come it would make some one happier than even your beautiful music could do.” That was all; there was neither name nor date. A child’s epistle, written with a woman’s circumspection. With mingled sensations of doubt and curiosity I turned back to the old woman who stood awaiting me with eager anxiety. “Was this written by a child or woman?” I asked, meeting her eye with as much sternness as I could assume. “Don’t ask me—don’t ask me anything. I have promised to bring you if I could, but I cannot answer any questions.” I stepped back with an incredulous laugh. Here was evidently an adventure. “You will at least tell me where the young miss lives,” said I, “before I undertake to fulfil her request.” She shook her head. “I have a carriage at the door, sir,” said she. “All you have got to do is to get into it with me and we shall soon be at the house.” I looked from her face to the letter in my hand, and knew not what to think. The spirit of simplicity and ingenuousness that marked the latter was scarcely in keeping with this air of mystery. The woman observing my hesitation moved towards the door. “Will you come, sir?” she inquired. “You will not regret it. Just a moment’s talk with a pretty young girl—surely—” “Hush,” said I, hearing a hasty step behind me. And sure enough just then my intimate friend Selby came along and grasping me by the arm began dragging me towards the door. “You are my property,” said he. “I’ve promised, on my word of honor as a gentleman and a musician, to bring you to the Handel Club this afternoon. I was afraid you had escaped me, but—” Here he caught sight of the small black figure halting in the door-way, and paused. “Who’s this?” said he. I hesitated. For one instant the scale of my whole future destiny hung trembling in the balance, then the demon of curiosity got the better of my judgment, and with the rather unworthy consideration that I might as well enjoy my youth while I could, I released myself from my friend’s detaining hand and replied, “Some one with whom I have very particular business. I cannot go to the Handel Club to-day,” and darting out without further delay, I rejoined the old woman on the sidewalk.