"Yes," said Sedgwick, "I heard that same song once, more sacredly sung."
"O James!" Grace replied, and a celestial glow warmed her face.
"But that lady has a secret grief, certain," said Grace. "There was real sorrow in her tones, and there is a sorrow in her face, despite its superb serenity."
"Well, she is a widow," said Sedgwick.
"Yes, I know," was the answer; "but there is more than sorrow; she gives me the idea that her thought is that something priceless has been lost which she might have saved."
"Now I think, little one, that 'you have struck it,' as the miners say," said Sedgwick.
"How do you mean?" asked Grace.
"Some one who would have made her his wife and worshiped her has gone, and she is miserable," said Sedgwick.
"What makes you say that, dearest?" asked Grace.
"Because," replied Sedgwick, "I know it, and I know where he has gone, and she does not."