“You have a sorrow of your own, too!” she said, tenderly. “Ah, yes; I have seen—I know it! Kiss me, Margery! Some day, dear, perhaps you will tell me what it is, and, if I can, with all my heart I will help you.”
Margery knelt beside the chair for a few moments; then she raised her head.
“Some day I will,” she answered, steadily; then she rose.
When the footman appeared with the lamps, Margery turned to the piano. She had a sweet, sympathetic voice; but, though Miss Lawson had taught her music, Margery had had no singing lessons until she came to London to be companion to Lady Enid Walsh. Then, hearing her one night, the young invalid had been charmed, and insisted on Margery’s receiving lessons and studying under one of the best masters in town. She made rapid progress, for she loved all music well.
“What will you sing, Margery?” asked Lady Enid, leaning back, watching her young companion’s graceful form with loving eyes.
“Elaine’s song, the song of love and death. I have a new setting; it is very sweet.”
She played a few bars; then her voice filled the room with melody.
“Sweet is true love, though given in vain, in vain,
And sweet is death, who puts an end to pain;
I know not which is sweeter—no, not I.