"Bach—Suite for violoncello—præludium."
The fervent voice of the 'cello filled the room. Archer, who knew good playing, listened in delight; but presently his eyes wandered to the girl, as she now sat looking into the fire in her turn, and to the sad, pale face of her father, bending over, rapt in his music. Strange entertainers; yet stranger still was the calm, unconscious egotism of sorrow in this host who had forgotten him. Through præludium the music ran, through sarabande, and into bourrée, when of a sudden it stopped lamely.
"I 've not the heart for it to-night," said the player, as he restored the violoncello to its place. "This young man from the sea has set me thinking about Arthur."
"He must be hungry, father," the girl suggested, with something like timidity. "Shall I get"—
"No," he decided. "Tell Barbara to come here."
The girl's face darkened, and she went out with visible reluctance. Presently came
