"Will you not do so still?" queried Maryllia, sweetly--"I can promise you both solitude and silence."

Again a wave of awkwardness overcame him. What could he say in response to this friendly and gentle graciousness!

"You are very kind,"--he murmured.

"Not at all. The library is very seldom used--so the kindness will be quite on your side if you can make it of service. I daresay you know more about the books than I do. My father was very proud of them."

"He had cause to be,"--said Walden, beginning to recover his equanimity and ease as the conversation turned into a channel which was his natural element--"It is one of the finest collections in England. The manuscripts alone are worth a fortune." Here he moved to the table where Adderley stood turning over a wondrously painted 'Book of Hours'--"That is perfect twelfth-century work"--he said-- "There is a picture in it which ought to please Miss Cicely," and he turned the pages over tenderly--"Here it is,--the loveliest of Saint Cecilias, in the act of singing!"

Cicely smiled with pleasure, and hung over the beautifully illuminated figure, surrounded with angels in clouds of golden glory.

"There's one thing about Heaven which everybody seems agreed upon,"- -she said--"It's a place where we're all expected to sing!"