She rose at once, and after a short prelude played in a manner so masterful as to cause the minister to look at his wife in wonder as her magnificent voice lifted that pathetic prayer, which has spoken for the sorrowful and suffering in all ages:
"O that I had wings like a dove, then would I flee away and be at rest."
Every note and every word was full of passionate spiritual desire and tender aspiration, and the music was as if her guardian angel joined her in it. The doctor was entranced, and Mrs. Robertson rose and was standing by the singer's side when she ceased.
"O, my dear, my dear!" she said, "you have gone straight to my heart."
A long and delightful conversation followed; then Ducie set an exquisite little service, and gave the company tea and cake and sweetmeats, and the visit did not terminate for nearly another hour.
Mrs. Campbell was in a transport of anger. "I was never even asked after," she complained to her son, "and Dora kept them all of two hours—such ignorance of social customs—and I could hear them talking and singing like a crowd of daffing young people."
"You ought to have joined them, mother."
"I ought to have been asked to do so, but I was quite neglected."
A few minutes later Robert said to his wife: "Why did you not send for mother when the minister called?"
"Mother was not asked for, and whenever I do send for her she makes a point of refusing, often very rudely, and I did not wish Dr. Robertson to be refused in our parlor."