Sister Benigna said to her companion, “It is time we practiced before an audience perhaps;” and they went on as if nothing had happened.

And sitting in that cool room on the eve of a scorching and distracted day, is it any wonder that Leonhard composed himself to accept any marvel that might present itself?  Once across the threshold of the Every-day, and there is nothing indeed for which one should not be prepared.

If in mood somewhat less enthusiastic than that of our traveler we look in upon that little company, what shall we see?

In the first place, inevitably, Sister Benigna.  But describe a picture, will you, or the mountains, or the sea?  It must have been something for the Spenersberg folk to know that such a woman dwelt among them, yet probably two-thirds of her influence was unconsciously put forth and as unconsciously received.  They knew that in musical matters she inspired them and exacted of them to the uttermost, but they did not and could not know how much her life was worth to all of them, and that they lived on a higher plane because of those half dozen wonderful notes of hers, and the unflagging enthusiasm which needed but the name of love-feast or festival to bring a light into her lovely eyes that seemed to spread up and around her white forehead and beautiful hair like a supernatural lustre.  There was a fire that animated her which nobody who saw its glow or felt its warmth could question.  Without that altar of music—­But why speculate on what she might have been if she had not been what she was?  That would be to consider not Benigna, but somebody else.

She was accompanying Elise through Handel’s “Pastoral Symphony.”  Elise began:  “He is the righteous Saviour, and He shall speak peace unto the heathen.”  At the first notes Leonhard looked hastily toward the window, and if it had been a door he would have passed out on to the piazza, that he might there have heard, unseeing, unseen.  While he sat still and looked and listened it seemed to him as if he had been engaged in foolish games with children all his life.  He sat as it were in the dust, scorning his own insignificance.

The young girl who now sat, now stood beside her, must have been the child of her training.  For six years, indeed, they have lived together under one roof, sharing one apartment.  Within the hour just passed, that has been said by them toward which all the talk and all the action of the six years has tended, and the heart of the girl lies in the hand of the woman, and what will the woman do with it?

Perhaps all that Benigna can do for Elise has to-day been accomplished.  It may be that to grow beside her now will be to grow in the shade when shade is needed no longer, and when the effect will be to weaken life and to deepen the spirit of dependence.  Possibly sunlight though scorching, winds though wild, would be better for Elise now than the protecting shadow of her friend.