"Reading aloud rarely fatigues me. What shall I sing?"
"That solemn, weird thing in the 'Prophet,' which suits your voice so well."
She sang 'Ah, mon fils!' and then, without waiting for the request which she knew would follow, gave him some of his favorite Scotch songs.
As the last sweet strains of "Mary of Argyle" echoed through the study, the pastor shut his eyes, and memory flew back to the early years when his own wife Mary had sung those words in that room, and his dead darlings clustered eagerly around the piano to listen to their mother's music. Five fair-browed, innocent young faces circling about the idolized wife, and baby Annie nestling in her cradle beside the hearth, playing with her waxen fingers and crowing softly. Death had stolen his household jewels; but recollection robbed the grave, and music's magic touch unsealed "memory's golden urn."
"Oh! death in life, the days that are no more!"
Edna thought he had fallen asleep, he was so still, his face was so placid; and she came softly back to her chair and looked at the ruby temples and towers, the glittering domes and ash-gray ruined arcades built by the oak coals.
A month had elapsed since her arrival at the parsonage, and during that short period Mr. Hammond had rallied and recovered his strength so unexpectedly that hopes were entertained of his entire restoration; and he spoke confidently of being able to reenter his pulpit on Easter Sunday.
The society of his favorite pupil seemed to render him completely happy, and his countenance shone in the blessed light that gladdened his heart. After a long, dark, stormy day, the sun of his life was preparing to set in cloudless peace and glory.
Into all of Edna's literary schemes he entered eagerly. She read to him the MS. of her new book as far as it was written, and was gratified by his perfect satisfaction with the style, plot, and aim.
Mrs. Murray came every day to the parsonage, but Edna had not visited Le Bocage; and though Mr. Murray spent two mornings of each week with Mr. Hammond, he called at stated hours, and she had not yet met him. Twice she had heard his voice in earnest conversation, and several times she had seen his tall figure coming up the walk, but of his features she caught not even a glimpse. St. Elmo's name had never been mentioned in her presence by either his mother or the pastor, but Huldah talked ceaselessly of his kindness to her. Knowing the days on which he came to the parsonage, Edna always absented herself from the invalid's room until the visit was over.