as if she were trying to see the speaker's countenance in spite of her infirmity.

"What a beautiful voice," she murmured softly, and Nestley had to repeat his question before she answered:

"At the school for the blind at Hampstead," she said turning towards him, which reply gave Nestley a painful shock as he realized her misfortune. With delicate tact, however, he passed the answer off lightly in a conversational manner.

"I don't know much about music myself," he said easily, "it seems such a complicated affair--are you fond of it?"

"Very," answered the blind girl quickly. "You see it is the only pleasure I have. When I go out on to the common and feel the fresh wind and smell the perfume of the gorse, I come back here and try and put it all into music. I often thank God for being able to play the organ."

It was deeply pathetic to hear her talk in this strain; shut out by her affliction from all the beauties of Nature, she could yet thank God for the one gift which enabled her in some measure to understand and appreciate what she had never beheld. Doctors, as a rule, are not very soft-hearted, but Nestley could hardly help feeling moved at the thrill of sadness which ran through her speech. This she perceived, and with a light laugh, hastened to dispel the illusion she had created.

"You must not think I am sad," she said cheerfully, "on the contrary, I never was so happy in my life as I am here. I was brought up all my life in London, and when I was appointed organist here, you can have no idea of the pleasure I felt. I have the common and the organ, while everyone is kind to me, so what have I to wish for? Now, Doctor Nestley, I must ask you to go, as I am about to practise. I think Miss Challoner and your friends have gone."They were waiting for the doctor at the lower end of the church, so after saying good-bye to Cecilia, he hurried away into the dusky atmosphere, and as he reached Beaumont, the organ rolled out the opening chords of a mass by Pergolesi. Reginald went outside with Nestley as he wished to speak to him about the Squire, and Una was left standing with Beaumont in the grey old church. They listened in silence to the deep thunder of the bass notes echoing in the high roof, when suddenly in the middle of a crashing chord the sonorous tones died away and a sweet, pure melody thrilled through the silence, which seemed almost oppressive after the tempest of sound.

"After the fire there came a still small voice," quoted Basil dreamily. 

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