“Yes,” continued Despard, with an enthusiasm which he did not care to conceal, “we will go together at this sweet task, and we will sing the [Greek: cath castaen aemeran], which holds the same place in the Greek Church that the _Te Deum_ does in ours. We will chant together the Golden Canon of St. John Damascene--the Queen of Canons, the grandest song of ‘Christ is risen’ that mortals ever composed. Your heart and mine will beat together with one feeling at the sublime choral strain. We will sing the ‘Hymn of Victory.’ We will go together over the songs of St. Cosmas, St. Theophanes, and St. Theodore; St. Gregory, St. Anatobus, and St. Andrew of Crete shall inspire us; and the thoughts that have kindled the hearts of martyrs at the stake shall exalt our souls to heaven. But I have more than this. I have some compositions of my own; poor ones, indeed, yet an effort in the right way. They are a collection of those hymns of the Primitive Church which are contained in the New Testament. I have tried to set them to music. They are: ‘Worthy is the Lamb,’ ‘Unto Him that loved us,’ ‘Great and marvelous are thy works,’ and the ‘Trisagion.’ Yes, we will go together at this lofty and heavenly work, and I shall be able to gain a new interpretation from your sympathy.” Despard spoke with a vehement enthusiasm that kindled his eyes with unusual lustre and spread a glow over his pale face. He looked like some devotee under a sudden inspiration. Mrs. Thornton caught all his enthusiasm; her eyes brightened, and her face also flushed with excitement. “Whenever you are ready to lead me into that new world of music,” said she, “I am ready to follow.” “Are you willing to begin next Monday?” “Yes. All my time is my own.” “Then I will come for you.” “Then I will be waiting for you. By-the-way, are you engaged for to-night?” “No; why?” “There is going to be a fête champêtre. It is a ridiculous thing for the Holby people to do; but I have to go to play the patroness. Mr. Thornton does not want to go. Would you sacrifice yourself to my necessities, and allow me your escort?” “Would a thirsty man be willing to accept a cooling draught?” said Despard, eagerly. “You open heaven before me, and ask me if I will enter.” His voice trembled, and he paused. “You never forget yourself,” said Mrs. Thornton, with slight agitation, looking away as she spoke. “I will be back at any hour you say.” “You will do no such thing. Since you are here you must remain and dine, and then go with me. Do you suppose I would trust you? Why, if I let you go, you might keep me waiting a whole hour.” “Well, if your will is not law to me what is? Speak, and your servant obeys. To stay will only add to my happiness.” “Then let me make you happy by forcing you to stay.” Despard’s face showed his feelings, and to judge by its expression his language had not been extravagant.