Victoria, eminently a woman of the world, grew weary of this poetical talk and made a sign to Otterburn, who, understanding her meaning, arose to his feet as she left her chair, and they strolled along the terrace laughing gaily. A sound from within showed that Mrs. Trubbles was once more awake, so Guy in his capacity of host went inside to attend to her, and Eustace, sitting at the piano, was left alone with Lady Errington. So frail, so pale, so ethereal she looked in the thin cold beams of the moon, lying back, still and listless, in her wicker chair, with her hands crossed idly on her white dress. The man at the piano was in the radiance of the rosy lamplight, but the woman, dreaming in the silence, looked a fitter inhabitant for this weird, white world of mystery and chilly splendour. Watching her closely, even in the distance, Eustace caught a glimpse of her eyes for the moment, and fancied, with the vivid imagination of a poet, that he saw in their depths that undefinable look of unfulfilled motherhood which had led him to call her an "incomplete Madonna." Filled with this idea, a sudden inspiration of ascertaining the truth seized him, and without changing his position, he replaced his fingers on the ivory keys and broke into the steady rhythmical swing of a cradle song. His voice was a small sweet tenor, not very loud, but wonderfully soft and sympathetic, so that he rendered the song he now sang with rare delicacy and tenderness. I. "Sleep, little baby! peacefully rest, Mother is clasping thee close to her breast; Angels watch over thee gentle and mild, Guard thee with heavenly love undefiled. Sleep little baby, safe in thy nest, Sleep little baby! mother's own child." II. "Sleep, little baby! fear not the storm, Tenderly mother is holding thy form. Mother's eyes watching thee ever above Shine like twin stars with fathomless love. Sleep, little baby! safely and warm, Sleep, little baby! mother's own dove." When he had ended the song with one soft, long-drawn note, he glanced furtively at Lady Errington, and saw that he had touched the one sympathetic chord of her nature, for those calm blue eyes were full of unshed tears hanging on the long lashes. Eustace delicately refrained from noticing her emotion, but rising from the piano strolled on to the terrace, leaned lightly over the balustrade and gazed absorbedly at the restless water, dark and sombre under the stone wall. "A perfect night," he murmured after a pause, during which Lady Errington found time to recover herself from the momentary fit of emotion. "Yes," answered Alizon mechanically, then after a pause, "thank you very much for the song."