“Mr. Palma——­” her voice faltered.

“Well, go on.”

“I was very much distressed; it made my heart ache.”

“So I perceived.  But was it the bare church, or the minister, or my ward’s sensitive conscience?”

After a moment she lifted her misty eyes to meet his, and answered tremulously: 

“It was the singing of ‘Oh that I had wings!’ I have not heard it since that dreadful time I sang it last, and you can’t possibly understand my feelings.”

“Certainly not, unless you deign to explain the circumstances.”

“Dear Mr. Hargrove asked me to go in and play on the organ in the library, and sing that sacred song for him.  I sang it, and played for awhile on the organ, and then went back to him on the verandah, and he had died—­alone, in his chair, while I was singing ’Oh that I had wings!’ To-day, when the choir began it, everything came back so vividly to me.  The dear happy home at the parsonage, the supper I had set for my dear Mr. Hargrove, the flowers in the garden, the smell of the carnations, the sound of the ring-doves in the vines, the moonlight shining so softly on his kind face and white hair—­and Oh!——­”

They walked the length of two squares before either spoke again.

“I was not aware that you performed on the organ.”

“Mrs. Lindsay gave me lessons, and I used the cabinet organ.”

“Do you prefer it to the piano?”

“For sacred songs, I do.”

“If we had one in the library, do you suppose you would ever sing for me?”

“If you really desired it, perhaps I would try; but of course I know very well that you care nothing for my music; and our dear old hymns and chants would only tire and annoy you.”

“To whom does ‘our’ refer?”

“My dear Mr. Hargrove and Mrs. Lindsay and her son.  We so often sang quartettes at home in the long, delicious, peaceful summer evenings, before the awful affliction came and separated us.”

The lamps were lighted, and night closed in, with silvery constellations overhead, before Mr. Palma and his companion were near their destination.  As they crossed a street, he said, abruptly breaking a long silence: 

“Take my arm.”

Never before had such a courtesy been tendered, and she looked up in unfeigned surprise.

He was so tall, so stately, that the proposition seemed to her preposterous.

“Can’t you reach it?”

He took her hand, drew it beneath, and placed the fingers on his arm.

“Of late you have grown so rapidly, your head is almost on a level with my shoulder; and you are quite tall enough now to accept my escort.”

When they were within a square of home, Mr. Palma said very gravely: 

“This afternoon I indulged one of your whims:  now will you recipricate, and gratify a caprice of your guardian?”

“Have you caprices?  I think not but I will oblige you if I can do so.”