That had begotten a tender pity and sympathy in her own sore and sorrowful heart for the lonely and unloved creature, and she longed to do her good, to be of some comfort to her. Only Miss Leonard intrenched herself behind such an antagonistic and forbidding manner, that it did not seem possible to reach her better nature, if indeed she had any. “Oh, if I could only win her confidence—win her to have a little more faith in humanity generally—to realize that life is not simply a battle-ground, where every man’s hand is against her, I should be well repaid for almost any effort or amount of endurance,” she sighed one evening, after an unusually hard and trying day. But it was apparently such a hopeless task—Miss Leonard was so antagonistic, so arbitrary and inconsiderate, she was afraid that she could not stay with her. But something occurred which made a radical change in the relations of this human porcupine and her gentle companion. One morning Miss Leonard sent Salome down to the drawing-room to get a book of engravings that was kept there. Salome had never been in the room before, and her eyes gleamed with delight as they fell upon a fine piano, which stood in one corner, while her fingers tingled to test its tones. She found the book she had been sent for, and returned to Miss Leonard’s boudoir, feeling that she could not be utterly wretched even in such an uncongenial atmosphere, if she could but obtain permission to make use of the instrument below. “What’s the matter?” Miss Leonard demanded, regarding her suspiciously, as she caught sight of her bright face. “Matter?” Salome questioned, not realizing that she had betrayed emotion of any kind. “Yes, you look wonderfully elated over something. What happened while you were downstairs?” “Nothing,” Salome answered; “only I was pleased to find that you have a fine piano in the house.” “Humph! Can you play the piano?” “Yes; I am really fond of music.” “Really! You’re quite a talented young woman—for a nurse,” was the mocking retort. Nothing more was said upon the subject at that time, but, after dinner, Miss Leonard told Harriet to light the chandelier in the drawing-room and open the piano; then rising from the table she led the way thither. “There,” she remarked to her companion, as she pointed toward the “concert grand;” “now we’ll see what you can do.” Salome colored at her tone, yet she was amused, for it was evident that Miss Leonard did not expect great things of her. “I have no music with me, but perhaps I can remember a few simple pieces,” she remarked, as she seated herself upon the stool and struck a few chords. Then she suddenly forgot all about herself and her surroundings. Her memory served her well; music came to her as she played, and she literally lost herself in the exquisite melodies which she awoke in that room of gloomy magnificence.