But when she came to herself she would not sing any more. A mixture of guilt and exultation was in her mind. “I ought not to have sung it. I am not good enough to sing it. I never thought what it meant till now,” she said trembling. “Oh, I hope you will forgive me. I never knew what it meant before.” “Forgive you!” said the Dean. “We don’t know how to thank you, Miss Despard.” He was the person who ought to know what it meant if anybody did. And when he had thus spoken he went back to his paper, a trifle displeased by the fuss she made; as if _she_ could have any new revelation of the meaning of a thing which, if not absolutely written for St. Michael’s, as good as belonged to the choir, which belonged to the Dean and Chapter! There was a certain presumption involved in Lottie’s humility. He went back to his reading-lamp, and finished the article which had been interrupted by her really beautiful rendering of a very fine solo. It was really beautiful; he would not for a moment deny that. But if Miss Despard turned out to be excitable, and gave herself airs, like a real prima donna! Heaven be praised, the little chorister boys never had any nerves, but sang whatever was set before them, without thinking what was meant, the Dean said to himself. And it would be difficult to describe Rollo Ridsdale’s disappointment. He sat down in a low chair by the side of the sofa, and talked to her in a whisper. “I understand you,” he said; “it is like coming down from the heaven of heavens, where you have carried us. But the other spheres are celestial too. Miss Despard, I shall drop down into sheer earth to-morrow. I am going away. I shall lose the happiness of hearing you altogether. Will you not have pity upon me, and lead me a little way into the earthly paradise?” But even these prayers did not move Lottie. She was too much shaken and disturbed out of the unconscious calm of her being for anything more. CHAPTER XII. BROTHER AND SISTER.