Mr. Wyman then led his friend and guest, Mr. Temple, to the instrument.  He touched it with a master hand.  One forgot everything save melodious tones; forgot even that there was a medium, through which those tones were conveyed to the senses.  The performer lost self, lost all save the author’s idea, until, at length, the ecstatic sounds came soft and clear as light from a star.  There was no intervention of self; his whole being was subordinate to the great creation—­the soul of the theme.  Eyes grew moist as the music floated on the air in one full, continuous strain.  Hearts beat with new pulsations; hopes soared anew; sorrows grew less; life seemed electric, full of love; sharp lines, and irregularities of mind were touched, softened, and toned to harmony under the swelling notes, now soft, sweet, and dulcet; now broad, high, and upsoaring.  No words broke the heavenly spell when the performer left the instrument, but each thrilled heart became a temple, in which only love and beauty dwelt.

There, in that holy atmosphere, a soul burst its fetters and went home.  Old Mrs. Norton, who came with such glorious anticipations, sank back upon the pillow upon which she was resting, while listening to the soul-ravishing sounds, and died.

No feeling of awe came over the people assembled; but all felt as though they, too, had entered within the confines of the silent land.

Gently they raised her form as one would a child who had fallen asleep.

There, in the presence of the still, pale face, they parted, with better, truer natures than when they met.

CHAPTER XVI.

The months wore away, and Margaret applied herself closely to her labor, and became a favorite with her companions.  Gladly would she have changed places with most of them, but they knew not the secret sorrow which was wearing her bloom away.  Her sighs grew more frequent, as the time rapidly approached when she must leave them.

Again and again she resolved to go to Mrs. Armstrong, and tell her all her grief, but the remembrance of her kindness made her cheek turn scarlet when the thought suggested itself.  No, she could not reveal it to one whom she loved so well.  She must go far away, and hide her shame from the eyes of all who had befriended her, and she had made many friends, yet would have lingered a few weeks longer, had she not one evening just at dark espied an old gentleman from her village, an acquaintance of her father’s.  She could not bear the thought that she must be carried back, to scenes so closely allied to her sufferings, and bear the scorn of those who knew her.  She could not endure that, and fearing that the person whom she had seen might some time meet and recognize her, she hastened the preparations for a change.  Again she collected her clothing, now more valuable, packed it and awaited some indication of the direction in which she should move.