"No, ma'am, nothing at all," answered Sally through her sobs.
"Don't cry; tell them when you go down, to keep up the search through the neighborhood; and if she is not forthcoming before to- morrow morning, I will take such steps as shall insure her discovery," said Lady Vincent, as she sipped her tea.
Sally only wept in reply.
"Remove this service now. And you need not come up again this evening unless you have news to bring me of Katie, for I need to be alone," said Lady Vincent, as she sat her empty cup upon the waiter.
Sally took the service from the room.
And the viscountess wheeled her chair around to the fire, placed her feet upon the fender, and yielded her wearied and distracted spirit up to the healing and soothing influences of night and solitude. As she sat there, the words of a beautiful hymn glided into her memory. Often before this evening, lying alone and wakeful upon her bed,— feeling the great blessing night brought her, in isolating her entirely from her evil companions, and drawing her into a purer sphere, feeling all the sweet and holy influences of night around her,—she had soothed her spirit to rest repeating the words of Mr. Longfellow's hymn:
"From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drinks repose;
The fountains of perpetual peace flows there,
From those deep cisterns flows.
Oh, Holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What souls have borne before,
Thou lay'st thy fingers on the lips of care
And they complain no more.
Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer,
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice prayed-for, the most fair,
The best beloved Night!"
She repeated it now. And it soothed her like a benediction,