And oh! the night, my darling, is sighing—
Sighing for you, for you."
A verse was finished. Millicent crept nearer. She had never heard such tender singing. Three or four simple bars and it began again:
"O think not I can forget you;
I could not though I would;
I see you in all around me,
The stream, the night, the wood;
The flowers that slumber so gently,
The stars above the blue.
Oh! heaven itself, my darling, is praying—
Praying for you, for you."
The voice sank very low, its pathos was infinite, yet the listener heard every word. There were no more. Millicent dried her eyes, and went tripping over her habit through the open schoolroom door. There sat the governess, with wrung face and grey eyes all intensity.
"My dear, it was divine!"
"You heard! I'm sorry."
"But why?"