Just here the clock struck eleven and they hurried into the house. Mr. and Mrs. De Vere had gone to bed but the others still sat before the library fire.
“Celeste, sing for us,” said Jack, bringing her guitar.
She hesitated.
“Please do. I have heard no music since you sang for me,” Hernando urged.
Instantly she took up her guitar though it was some minutes before she could control her voice, and then, her tones were pathetic; but gradually the musician conquered and she poured forth her soul in strains divinely sweet and melting.
“You have a rare gift in your voice, Celeste,” said Hernando, when she had put aside her guitar.
“I believe we all possess some talent,” she returned.
“So do I,” he answered, “and we will be held responsible for the use we make of it. I am wondering for what purpose my life has been spared.”
“An earnest one, I am sure you will make it,” said Eletheer. “Tell us about your life at Shushan.”
All but Hernando started at this allusion to that hateful place for, by common consent, they had avoided mentioning it. He, however, seemed pleased as he said—