But if St. Leon heard her, he answered not.  His senses were locked in those strains of music which recalled memories of something, he scarcely knew what, and Lucy found herself standing alone, her heart swelling with anger toward Ada, who from that time was her hated rival.  The music ceased, but scores of voices were loud in their call for another song; and again Ada sang, but this time there was in the tones of her voice a thrilling power, for which those who listened could not account.  To Ada the atmosphere about her seemed charmed, for though she never for a moment raised her eyes, she well knew who it was that leaned upon the piano and looked intently upon her.  Again the song was finished, and then at St. Leon’s request he was introduced to the singer, who returned his salutation with perfect self-possession, although her heart beat quickly, as she hoped, yet half-feared, that that he would recognize her.  But he did not, and as they passed together into the next room he wondered much why the hand which lay upon his arm trembled so violently, while Ada said to herself, “’Tis not strange he doesn’t know me by this name.”  Whether St. Leon knew her or not, there seemed about her some strong attraction, which kept him at her side the remainder of the evening, greatly to Lucy Dayton’s mortification and displeasure.

“I’ll be revenged on her yet,” she muttered.  “The upstart!  I wonder where she learned to play.”

This last sentence was said aloud; and Lizzie, who was standing near, replied, “Her father was once wealthy and Ada had the best of teachers.  Since she has lived in S——­ she has occasionally practised on Anna’s piano.”

“I think I’d keep a piano for paupers to play on,” was Lucy’s contemptuous reply, uttered with no small degree of bitterness, for at that moment St. Leon approached her with the object of her dislike leaning upon his arm.

Ada introduced Lizzie to St. Leon, who offered her his other arm, and the three kept together until Lizzie, uttering a low, sharp cry of pain leaned heavily as if for support against St. Leon.  In an instant Lucy was at her side; but to all her anxious inquiries Lizzie could only reply, as she clasped her thin, white hand over her side, “The pain—­the pain—­take me home.”

“Our sleigh has not yet come,” said Lucy.  “Oh, what shall we do?”

“Mine is here, and at your command, Miss Dayton,” said St. Leon.

Lucy thanked him, and then proceeded to prepare Lizzie, who, chilled through and through by the exposure of her chest and arms, had borne the racking pain in her side as long as possible, and now lay upon the sofa as helpless as an infant.  When all was ready St. Leon lifted her in his arms, and bearing her to the sleigh, stepped lightly in with her, and took his seat.

“It is hardly necessary for you to accompany us home,” said Lucy, overjoyed beyond measure, though, to find that he was going.

“Allow me to be the judge,” answered St. Leon, and other than that, not a word was spoken until they reached Mr. Dayton’s door.  Then, carefully carrying Lizzie into the house, he was about to leave, when Lucy detained him to thank him for his kindness, adding that she hoped to see him again.