"No, I am sure she can not," Mrs. West answered, decidedly. "But shall we go now?" "Presently, Aunt West. I may stay just a little longer, may I not?" "If you like to stay alone. I have just thought of some duties I have to perform. I will go back and leave you here. If I come in half an hour, will you be ready?" "Oh, yes, thank you, aunt," she answered, and ran her fingers lovingly over the keys, little thinking that the strong, full, joyous notes were awakening Nemesis from her nap upstairs. CHAPTER XXX. While Lady Lancaster was finishing her toilet upstairs, Leonora finished her fugue in the drawing-room. Then she played a little _morceau_ from Bach. Then she began to sing. The dowager, coming along the corridor outside with stealthy, cat-like steps, was amazed to catch the passionate words of a little gem from "Iolanthe," sung in a voice as sweet and clear and well trained as many a professional could boast. "An opera song! Upon my word! What sort of a girl is it, anyhow?" ejaculated the dowager, in astonishment; and in spite of her haste and anger, she could not help pausing to hear the words of the tender love song: "None shall part us from each other, All in all to each are we; All in all to one another, I to thee, and thou to me! Thou the tree, and I the flower-- Thou the idol, I the throng-- Thou the day, and I the hour-- Thou the singer, I the song! Thou the stream, and I the willow-- Thou the sculptor, I the clay-- Thou the ocean, I the billow-- Thou the sunrise, I the day!" "Upon my word, that must be a remarkable child," Lady Lancaster said to herself; and, like Elise, she peeped around the door to get a secret view of the daring transgressor. After she had looked she stepped back a pace in amazement. She was more astonished than she had ever been in her life. The child she had come to see was nowhere. She had come down the stairs with a distinct intention of "boxing the little brat's ears for her temerity." She stared in amazement at what she saw. And yet it was not a wonderful sight, but only a very pleasing one--unless my lady had been hard to please--only a graceful, girlish figure in deep black, with a line of white at the slender throat, where the narrow linen collar was fastened with a neat bar of jet--only a fair young face, with its profile turned toward the door, and two small white hands guiltless of rings or other adorning, save their own dimpled beauty, straying over the keys with a loving touch, as if all her soul was in her song. Lady Lancaster caught her breath with a gasp as if someone had thrown cold water over her. She turned to the maid; exclaiming, in a shrill whisper: "Elise, that is not West's American niece. You are trying to deceive me!" "No, my lady, I am not. It is Miss West. Is she not a pretty girl?" "But I thought," said my lady, ignoring the question, "that West's niece was a child. I am sure she told me so."