Just then a step aroused him, and glancing up the friend of other days stood before him. Very seldom indeed had Norman Carlton favored Maplelawn with his presence in these later days. The harmony that had once existed there was broken, though he did not understand why, and in consequence remained away. Westcot had long ago recognized the injustice of the unmanly words he had in a fit of passion hurled at his wife, and if he had needed proof that he was wrong, Carlton’s remaining away during the enforced absence of Imelda Ellwood and his sudden reappearance at the very moment of her return, ought to give him that proof. But to do him justice, he no longer needed it, and if he believed he had read correctly a secret page in her life he knew only too well who it was that had digressed farthest from the prescribed line. Norman would have passed him but he laid a detaining hand upon his arm.
“I understand the attraction,” said Westcot, “but no harm will be done if you will give me a half hour first. We have been drifting apart, and I would not have it so. Something has gone out of my life, leaving it empty; and sometimes life itself seems a burden. Will you assist me to make a reparation?”
A look of surprise overspread the face of the young man. Then he hastened to say:
“Certainly I will. Have we not always been fast friends in the past? I have no desire to let a friendship of almost life-long standing die a death so sudden.”
“Then come,” said Westcot, and together they wended their way through the grounds, and were soon lost in the shadows. When they returned an hour had passed. Both faces were perhaps a shade paler, a shade more serious, but the old confidence has been restored. What overtures had been made, what words spoken will never perhaps be revealed, but firmly clasping hands Norman spoke:
“You have my advice!”
“And I will follow it!”
“Thank you! You have spoken like a man. Under the circumstances I think it is the only way that is open, and I am a poor judge of human nature in general, and of women in particular, if such proceeding as you now contemplate will not restore peace and confidence to the little circle under your roof.”
With a last glance into the eyes of the other he dropped his hand and entered the room where the trio of women were trying to while away the hours that were to bring at least one fair girl’s friend and lover. Just as he stepped across the low French window Imelda was running her fingers across the key board of the piano. Cora was standing by her side. Ere he had advanced more than a step a voice of singular sweetness arose and filled the room. In an instant more a second manly face appeared in the frame of the open window. All unconscious of her audience the girl gave full vent in song to the feelings that swelled her breast. The notes rose and fell and vibrated, until the very air seemed to be full of life and feeling. With bated breath the men stood and listened, forgetful of aught else but the rare sweet music of the young pathetic voice; a voice that possessed the power of carrying them away beyond themselves. The song was a translation from the German by Heine—the famous “Lorelei,” a selection well calculated to try the strength and compass of the voice that attempts it. Its weird and melancholy pathos moved the inmost hearts of the listeners. As the last vibrant notes died away the sound of applauding hands fell upon the ear, and hastily turning the trio espied the two men standing just where they had entered. A blush overspread the face of the fair singer. It was the first time that other ears than those of Owen Hunter had listened to the magic sound of that voice when raised in song.
With a quick movement Imelda stepped forward and with outstretched hand greeted the new comer. By the heightened color of her face and the happy light that shone in the lustrous dark eyes Cora quickly judged who it was that so suddenly had stepped into their midst, and in a moment more was bowing in acknowledgement of the introduction which had followed. As she felt the searching glance the clear eyes bent upon her Cora again felt the tell-tale blood mount to her face, but with an effort overcoming the embarrassed feeling she openly returned the look. That which Norman Carlton saw within the depth of the hazel eyes must have been satisfactory for, extending his hand with a firm quick motion he said;