“O, Mrs. Hamlin,” said Sedgwick, “are you willing that I shall speak to her, that I shall tell her how much she is to me?”

“Quite willing,” was the answer; spoken after a moment’s thought.  “Believe me, I never suspected anything of this kind, never in the least, or I should not have stopped you here; but if Grace loves you I shall be most glad.  And one thing more.  Should Grace be willing to accept your attentions, for the present, please, do not speak to Mr. Hamlin or to Jack.  I have my special reasons for making this request.  I ask it because Mr. Hamlin is peculiar, and Grace is my child, in fact, while he is but her step-father.”

Then she arose, held out her hand and smiled.  Then her face became grave, and she leaned over the young man, kissed his forehead, and left the hall.

When the door closed Sedgwick put his hands before his eyes as though to ward off a great light; and when he removed them his lips were moving and his face wore a softened and exalted look, such as Saul’s might have worn after he saw the “great light.”

Dinner was hardly over that evening when Jack disappeared.  He spent nearly all his evenings with Rose, and so his absence was not remarked.  Mr. Hamlin had been called away to Scotland for two or three days on business.  Mrs. Hamlin, Grace and Sedgwick passed into the parlor.  After a little conversation, Sedgwick asked Grace to sing, and as she went to the piano Mrs. Hamlin arose and left the room.

Grace struck the instrument softly, and in a moment began to sing.  The piece she selected was the old one beginning: 

  “Could you come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
     In the old likeness that I knew,
   I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
     Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.”

There was a strange thrill in the voice of Grace as the song progressed, and when she reached the fourth stanza and sang: 

  “I never was worthy of you, Douglas,
     Not half worthy the like of you;
   Now, all men beside seem to me like shadows,—­
     I love you, Douglas, tender and true,”

the last words ended in a tone very much like a sob, and the singing ceased.

Sedgwick had risen, and walked to the side of Grace while she sang.  When she ceased he said: 

“That is a very touching song, Miss Grace.  Your voice vibrates in it as though your heart were heavy.”

“It is,” she frankly answered.

He bent and took an unresisting hand and said:  “If you are in trouble, may I not try to be your comforter?”

She rose from the piano, and looking up clear and brave into the eyes of the young man, said:  “You are most kind, but I cannot tell you why my heart is heavy.”

He looked down into her eyes for a moment and then said:  “My heart is likewise heavy, Miss Grace; may I tell you why?”

“Surely,” she answered, “if you have a sorrow, and if there is any balm in this household, it shall be yours.”