She remained thus for a minute, forgetful of everything; then at last she found herself thinking “it must be Mr. Howard,” and waiting to see if he would play again.  But he did not do so, and Helen sat in silence for a long time, her thoughts turned to him.  She found herself whispering “so he is a wonderful musician after all,” and noticing that the memory of his wan face frightened her no longer; it seemed just then that there could be no one in the world more wretched than herself.  She was only wishing that he would begin again, for that utterance of her grief had seemed like a victory, and now in the silence she was sinking back into her despair.  The more she waited, the more impatient she grew, until suddenly she rose from her seat.

“He might play again if I asked him,” she said to herself.  “He would if he knew I was unhappy; I wonder where he can be?”

Helen’s window was in the front of the house, opening upon a broad lawn whose walks were marked in the moonlight by the high shrubbery that lined them.  Some distance beyond, down one of the paths, were two summer-houses, and it seemed to her that the music had come from one of them, probably the far one, for it had sounded very soft.  No sooner had the thought come to her than she turned and went quietly to the door.  She ran quickly down the steps, and seeing her aunt and Mr. Roberts upon the piazza, she turned and passed out by one of the side doors.

Helen had yielded to a sudden impulse in doing thus, drawn by her yearning for the music.  When she thought about it as she walked on it seemed to her a foolish idea, for the man could not possibly know of her trouble, and moreover was probably with his friend the lieutenant.  But she did not stop even then, for her heart’s hunger still drove her on, and she thought, “I’ll see, and perhaps he will play again without my asking; I can sit in the near summer-house and wait.”

She went swiftly on with that purpose in mind, not going upon the path, because she would have been in the full moonlight, and in sight of the two upon the piazza.  She passed silently along by the high hedge, concealed in its shadows, and her footsteps deadened by the grass.  She was as quiet as possible, wishing to be in the summer-house without anyone’s knowing it.

And she had come very close to it indeed, within a few yards, when suddenly she stopped short with an inward exclamation; the silence of the twilight had been broken by a voice—­one that seemed almost beside her, and that startled her with a realization of the mistake she had made.  The two men were themselves in the house to which she had been going.

It was Mr. Howard’s voice which she heard; he was speaking very low, almost in a whisper, yet Helen was near enough to hear every word that he uttered.