The latter possessed a soft, rich and musical voice of much flexibility and easily adapted to meet the tastes of her audience.
"What shall I sing?" cried she in imploring tones as her eyes instinctively met those of Mr. Lawson.
"Anything you like," replied several voices.
As the girl took her seat at the piano she looked everything but a hoyden. A sweet native grace possessed every movement and gave dignity to every gesture. The pretty fingers, somewhat browned by recent exposure, ran over the keys and a prelude soft and bewitching floated around the room, then the bird-like notes warbled forth that well-known song—
"'Tis evening brings my heart to thee."
A solemn stillness prevailed. An exquisite sadness seemed to possess each member of the company, but there was one who felt it keenly.
As Phillip Lawson sat there listlessly turning over the leaves of a handsomely-bound portfolio who could tell of the deep agitation that almost unmanned him? Not a muscle moved, not a sigh was heard, not a look was conveyed, yet deep down in his heart was a fierce conflict.
"My God," thought the young man in the bitterness of his heart, "will the dead past never bury its dead? Why does it come forth from its shallow sepulchre and meet me on the most trifling occasions? Even that romping girl has power to unearth the mystic presence."
The last notes had died away and Jennie Montgomery cast a quick glance at the young lawyer. Her intuitive nature was sadly alive to the effect produced upon her friend. "Poor Phillip," thought she, "he thinks he is secure, that none intrude upon the sanctity of his thoughts. Poor Phillip, I would wish him happier things."
"Such a song to amuse a company," exclaimed Herbert Rutherford. "If Maude was here you might expect a crying match, and judging by the rest of the faces I think we could count upon a pretty fair exhibition of the pathetic."