This was agreed to, and Sedgwick proceeded to do the errand.

The Sedgwicks were shown into the drawing-room of the Brunswicks, and had been for a few minutes conversing when the door opened and a lady entered.

A glance was enough to show that she was exceedingly beautiful.  She was perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age, not too tall, rounded into full maturity, with a most strong but winsome face.  Her eyes were blue, her hair a golden brown and glossy, and when she spoke, her teeth were revealed, perfect and white.

She was presented to the strangers as Mrs. Hazleton.

Dinner was shortly after announced, and after dinner, when the gentlemen had returned to the drawing-room, Mrs. Brunswick asked Mrs. Hazleton to sing.  She did not say “Mrs. Hazleton,” but just “Margaret.”

Without making any excuses she went to the piano and asked Mrs. Brunswick if she desired any particular piece.  She answered: 

“No, my dear, sing anything you feel like singing; only have it old-fashioned and sweet, rather than scientific.”

Strangely enough, she struck a few wailing chords on the instrument, and then with a pathos and tenderness most touching, sang the old song beginning: 

  “Could you come back to me, Douglas.”

The effect was great on all the company, but to Sedgwick and his bride it was intensely thrilling.

The eyes of Grace filled with tears, and Sedgwick, who was near, unobserved by the rest, took and pressed her hand.

The company separated early, with an agreement for the ensuing day, which was to fill it with rides, luncheon, a matinee for the ladies, and dinner afterward.

So soon as Sedgwick and his bride were by themselves, Grace said:  “Love, did you ever hear anything half as sweet as that singing?”

“Yes,” said Sedgwick, “I heard that same song once, more sacredly sung.”

“O James!” Grace replied, and a celestial glow warmed her face.

“But that lady has a secret grief, certain,” said Grace.  “There was real sorrow in her tones, and there is a sorrow in her face, despite its superb serenity.”

“Well, she is a widow,” said Sedgwick.

“Yes, I know,” was the answer; “but there is more than sorrow; she gives me the idea that her thought is that something priceless has been lost which she might have saved.”

“Now I think, little one, that ‘you have struck it,’ as the miners say,” said Sedgwick.

“How do you mean?” asked Grace.

“Some one who would have made her his wife and worshiped her has gone, and she is miserable,” said Sedgwick.

“What makes you say that, dearest?” asked Grace.

“Because,” replied Sedgwick, “I know it, and I know where he has gone, and she does not.”

“Why, what do you know of her?  Did you ever meet her before?” asked Grace.

“No, I have never met her, but I have met some one who has,” said Sedgwick.