For the first time since her arrival he approached the confines of her residence, and, as he threw the reins over the dashboard of his buggy and stood under the lofty old trees that surrounded the house, he paused to admire the beauty of the grounds, the grouping of some statues and pot plants on a neighboring mound, and the far-stretching sheen of the rippling sea. No living thing was visible except a golden pheasant and scarlet flamingo strutting along the stone terrace at the foot of the lawn, and silence and repose seemed brooding over house and yard; when suddenly a rapid, passionate, piano-prelude smote the stillness till the air appeared to throb and quiver, and a thrillingly sweet yet intensely mournful voice sang the wailing strains of _Addio del Passato_. The indescribable yet almost overwhelming pathos of the tones affected Dr. Grey much as the tremolo-stop in some organ-overture in a dimly-lighted cathedral; and, as the singer seemed to pour her whole aching heart and wearied soul into the concluding "_Ah! tutto-tutto fini!_" he turned, and involuntarily followed the sound, like one in a dream. The front door was closed; but the sash of the oriel window had been raised, and through the delicate lace curtains that were swaying in the salt breath of ocean he could see what passed in the parlor. A woman sat before the piano, running her snowy fingers idly across the keys, now striking _fortissimo_ a wild stormy _fugue_ theme, and then softly evoking a subtle minor chord that seemed the utterance of some despairing spirit breathing its last prayer for peace. Her Marie-Louise blue dress was girded at the waist by a belt and buckle of silver, and the loose sleeve of the right arm was looped and pinned up, showing the dimpled elbow and daintily rounded wrist encircled by the jet serpent. Around her throat she had carelessly thrown a lace handkerchief, and from the mass of hair that seemed tiny, snow-capped waves, a cluster of blue nemophila leaned down to touch the white forehead beneath, and peep at the answering blue gleams in the large, shining, steely eyes. Her fingers strayed listlessly into a _Nocturne_; but from the dreamy expression of the face, upraised to gaze at the busts on the brackets above, it was evident that her thoughts had wandered far away from _Addio del Passato_, and were treading the drift-strewn strands of melancholy memory. Presently she rose, walked twice across the room, and came back to an _etagere_ where stood an azure Bohemian glass vase, supported by silver Tritons, and filled with late blue hyacinths and early pancratiums. Bending her regal head, she inhaled the mingled perfumes, worthy of Sicilian or Cyprian meadows; and, while her slight fingers toyed with the fragile petals, a proud smile lent its sad light to the chill face, and she said aloud, as if striving to comfort herself,--