"'Was your father very clever?' I asked her, keenly interested in any glimpses of her history.
"'Yes, I am sure he was clever, much cleverer than the common run of people. He loved music, and he played beautifully. His touch upon the old organ made the church music sound angelic. Now and then there was some one in the church—some stranger—who seemed to understand his playing, and who was astonished to find such an organist in a village church—an out-of-the-way village like ours. But for the most part people took no notice. It didn't seem to matter to them whether the choir sang well or badly; but when they sang false it hurt father just like bodily pain.'
"'Did he teach you to play?'
"'A little. But he wasn't fond of teaching. What I know of music I found out chiefly for myself—just sitting alone at the organ, when I could get one of the choir boys to blow for me, touching the keys, and trying the stops, till I learnt something about them. But I play very badly.'
"'Beautifully! beautifully!' ejaculated Martha. 'You draw tears.'
"'You sang in the choir, I think?' I said.
"'Yes; there were four young ladies, and a lady's-maid with a contralto voice, and I was the sixth. There were about a dozen men and boys, who sat on the other side of the chancel. People said it was a good choir for a village church. Father was so unhappy when we sang badly that we could not help trying hard to sing well.'
"I remembered those seraphic soprano notes in Handel's thrilling melody, and I could understand that at least one voice in the choir had the heavenly ring.
"'Well,' I said at last, 'we must hope for the best. Something may turn up that will suit you better than governessing. And in the mean time you can make yourself happy with my old nurse. I can answer for it she'll never be unkind to you.'
"'I'm sure of that. I would rather stay here and be her servant than go among strangers.'