Lady Duckle had gone to Homburg; Owen had been obliged to go to Bath on account of his gout; and Evelyn was free to abandon herself to her love of Ulick and to her love of her father, and she begged him not to spoil her happiness, but to come to Dulwich with her.  His scruples were easily argued away.  She urged that he had not taken her away, he had brought her back to her father.  This last argument was convincing, and the happiest time in their lives was the week they spent in Dulwich.  They sat down together to dinner under the lamp at the round table in the little back room, and their evenings were passed at the harpsichord and the clavichord; and amid the dreams and aspirations of great men they attained their sublime nature.  The music that had been given and that was to be given at St. Joseph’s furnished a never-failing subject of discussion, and Mr. Innes told them stories of Italy in the sixteenth century.  How almost every Sunday there was a festival in some church where the most beautiful music was heard.  Along the nave were eight choirs, four on one side and four on the other, raised on stages eight to ten feet high, and facing one another at equal distances.  Each choir had a portable organ, and the maitre composateur beat the time for the principal choir.  And Mr. Innes’s eyes lighted up when he spoke of the admirable style recitatif in the oratory of St. Marcellus when there was a congregation of the Brothers of the Holy Crucifix.  This order was composed of the chief noblemen of Rome, who had therefore the power of bringing together the rarest musicians Italy could produce.  The voices began with a psalm in motet form, and then the instruments played a symphony, after which the voices sang a story from the Old Testament.  Each chorister represented a personage in the story, etc.  He spoke of the great organist at St. Peter’s, and the wonderful inventions he is said to have displayed in his improvisations.  No one since had played the harp like the renowned Horatio, but there was no one who could play the lyre like the renowned Ferrabosco in England.  Evelyn leaned across the table, transported three centuries back, hearing all this music, which she had known from her earliest years, performed by virtue of her father’s description in Italy, in St. Peter’s, in the oratory of St. Marcellus and in the church of Minerva.  Sometimes her father and Ulick began an argument, her sympathies alternated between them; she spoke very little, preferring to listen, not liking to side with either, agreeing with them, sometimes angering her father by her neutrality.  But one evening he was a little too insistent, and Evelyn burst into tears, and ran upstairs to her room.  The two men looked at each other, and Mr. Innes begged Ulick to tell him if he had been unkind, and then besought him to go upstairs and try to induce Evelyn to come down.  Her face brightened into merry laughter at her own folly, and it called from her many entertaining remarks, so Ulick was tempted to set them one against the other, and to do so he had only to ask if Evelyn could sing such light soprano parts as Zerlina or Rosetta as well as her mother.