Magdalen was not timid, but after this she kept her door locked at night, while during the day she frequently caught herself listening intently as if expecting something to happen. But nothing did happen until one night when she went as usual to the parlor, where she sat down to the piano and tried a new piece of music which Guy had sent to Alice. Finding it rather difficult, she cast it aside and dashed off something more familiar to her. On the music stand were piles and piles of songs, some her own, some Alice’s, and she looked them over, and selecting one which had always been her favorite, she began to sing, feeling much as an imprisoned bird must feel when it finds itself free again, for since her first night at Beechwood she had never been asked to sing with the piano. Now, however, she was alone, and she sang on and on, her voice, which had been out of practice so long, gathering strength and sweetness until the whole house was full of the clear, liquid tones, and the servants, still dawdling over their supper, commented upon the music and held their breath to listen. One of them had brought a lamp into the room before going to her tea, and this with the fire in the grate was all the light there was; but it answered every purpose for Magdalen, who enjoyed the dim twilight and the flickering shadows on the wall, and kept on with her singing, while through the upper hall there came stealing softly the figure of a woman with her white night dress trailing on the carpet, and her bare feet giving back no echo to her stealthy footsteps. She had come through the green baize door, and she paused there a moment and turned her ear in the direction whence she had come. But all was quiet. There was no one watching her, and with a cunning gleam in her restless, black eyes, she shut the door softly, then opened it again, and went back down the long hall until she reached a door which was partly ajar. This she also shut, and turning the key took it in her hand and started again for the music which had set her poor brain to throbbing, and quickened the blood in her veins until every nerve was quivering with excitement. “I am coming, oh, I’m coming. Don’t you hear me as I come?” sang Magdalen, while down the stairs and through the hall came the unseen visitor until she reached the parlor door, where she stood for a moment in the attitude of listening, while her eyes were fixed upon Magdalen with a curious, inquiring look.