How still and white his face looks, thought Dawn, as Herbert, at their request, seated himself at the instrument to play.  One long, rapt, upturned gaze, and then the fingers stole over the keys.

Was it the music of the air, or some being of the upper realms breathing on him, infusing his soul with sound, that caused him to produce such searching tones, and send them quivering through the souls of the listeners?  Now, moaning like the winds and waves; now, glad as though two beings long separated, had met.  Then the song grew sweeter, softer, mellower, till every eye was flowing; on and on, more lovely and imploring till one could only think that

  “The angels of Wind and of Fire
  Chant only one hymn, and expire
    With the song’s irresistible stress;
  Expire in their rapture and wonder,
  As harp-strings are broken asunder
    By music they throb to express.”

The strains died away.  Herbert sank back and spoke not; but on the white, uplifted face they read that an angel had been with him, one of the upper air.  No words broke the stillness of that atmosphere; not a breath stirred its heavenly spell.

Without speech they separated, and the hallowed sweetness of that hour remained with them in their dreams, which came not to either until long after midnight.

From her own experience, Dawn saw that Herbert must mingle more with people, and become interested in life.  She knew that it would not be well for him to think too much of the one whom the world pronounced gone, but who had come nearer than any earthly relation known.

“Come to my mountain home, and see my family,” she said to him the next morning, at parting.

He partly promised by words, but his air of abstraction indicated that he had no intention of so doing.

What was that look which flashed over her features just then?  Surely, the expression of his own dear Florence, pleading for something.

“I will come, Dawn, and very soon,” he said, this time decisively.

Dawn’s face lit up with another joy beside her own, as she pressed his hand and bade him good bye.

Not many weeks elapsed before Herbert fulfilled his promise to visit the Home.  A murmuring sound of voices fell upon his ears as he approached the dwelling, and as he came nearer, the beautiful air of “Home” touched his heart with a new sweetness.  The children were singing their evening hymn.  Just as he stepped upon the portico the song ceased, and Dawn came gliding from the hall.

“Herbert!  Welcome!” she exclaimed, with such an expression upon her face that no words were needed to tell him how glad she felt at his coming.

In her own little sitting room she had his supper brought, which he seemed to enjoy greatly, and then they walked in the garden till the dew hung heavy on the grass.

The days went by, and still he lingered.  It was life to him to see so many children happy through labor and usefulness.  Soon a desire to benefit them in some way took possession of his mind, and it was not long before he had so won their love by songs and stories of travel and history, that the evening group was not considered perfect without Mr. Temple, or “Uncle Herbert,” as a few of the youngest ventured to call him.