Through the narrow windows, the afternoon sunlight, fettered by shadowy bars, fell on the bare floor, and the radiance smote the organ and the wan face of the musician, gilding the dark reddish-brown hair coiled loosely on her nobly poised head.  Her black dress enhanced the extreme pallor of delicate features, which, outlined against that golden background, bore a strong resemblance to the lovely portrait of Titian’s wife in the Louvre.  Unmindful of the keys, across which her fingers strayed, she was gazing off into space, as if seeking some friendly face; and to the same sombre, passionate, plaintive melody she sang: 

    “The way is dark, my Father!  Cloud upon cloud
     Is gathering thickly o’er my head, and loud
     The thunders roar above me.  O, see—­I stand
     Like one bewildered!  Father, take my hand—­
     And through the gloom lead safely home Thy Child! 
     The day declines, my Father! and the night
     Is drawing darkly down.  My faithless sight
     Sees ghostly visions.  Fears like a spectral band
     Encompass me.  O, Father, take my hand,
     And from the night lead up to light Thy Child! 
     The cross is heavy, Father!  I have borne
     It long, and still do bear it.  I cannot stand
     Or go alone.  O, Father, take my hand,
     And reaching down, lead to the crown Thy Child!”

The voice was wonderfully sweet and rich, vibrating with the intense pathos of minor chords in a mellow old violoncello, and either from physical weakness, or the weight of woe, it quivered at last into a thrilling cry.  Tears were dripping over Leo’s cheeks, as she went up to the chancel railing, and leaning across, put out her hand.  Beryl rose and came forward, and so, with only the pine balustrade between, the two stood palm in palm.  No moisture dimmed the prisoner’s eyes, but around her beautiful mouth sorrowful curves betokened the fierceness of the ordeal she was enduring; and her lips trembled a little, like rose leaves under a sudden rude gust.

“I have wanted very much to see you, Miss Gordon, to thank you for the great kindness that prompted your effort to help me; and yet, I have no hope of expressing adequately the comfort I derived from this manifestation of your confidence.  The knowledge that you offered security for me, above all, that you were willing to take me—­an outcast, almost a convicted criminal—­into the holy shelter of your own home, oh! you can never realize, unless you stood in my place, how it soothes my heart, how it will always make a bright spot in the blackness of my situation.  The full sympathy of a noble woman is the best tonic for a feeble sufferer, who knows the world has turned its back upon her.  If I were unworthy, your goodness would be the keenest lash that could scourge me; but forlorn though I seem, your friendship brings me measureless balm, and while I could never have accepted your generous offer, I thank you sincerely.”