The drawing-room, to which we had now withdrawn for the rest of the evening, was on the ground-floor, and was of the same shape and size as the breakfast-room.  Large glass doors at the lower end opened on to a terrace, beautifully ornamented along its whole length with a profusion of flowers.  The soft, hazy twilight was just shading leaf and blossom alike into harmony with its own sober hues as we entered the room, and the sweet evening scent of the flowers met us with its fragrant welcome through the open glass doors.  Good Mrs. Vesey (always the first of the party to sit down) took possession of an arm-chair in a corner, and dozed off comfortably to sleep.  At my request Miss Fairlie placed herself at the piano.  As I followed her to a seat near the instrument, I saw Miss Halcombe retire into a recess of one of the side windows, to proceed with the search through her mother’s letters by the last quiet rays of the evening light.

How vividly that peaceful home-picture of the drawing-room comes back to me while I write!  From the place where I sat I could see Miss Halcombe’s graceful figure, half of it in soft light, half in mysterious shadow, bending intently over the letters in her lap; while, nearer to me, the fair profile of the player at the piano was just delicately defined against the faintly-deepening background of the inner wall of the room.  Outside, on the terrace, the clustering flowers and long grasses and creepers waved so gently in the light evening air, that the sound of their rustling never reached us.  The sky was without a cloud, and the dawning mystery of moonlight began to tremble already in the region of the eastern heaven.  The sense of peace and seclusion soothed all thought and feeling into a rapt, unearthly repose; and the balmy quiet, that deepened ever with the deepening light, seemed to hover over us with a gentler influence still, when there stole upon it from the piano the heavenly tenderness of the music of Mozart.  It was an evening of sights and sounds never to forget.

We all sat silent in the places we had chosen—­Mrs. Vesey still sleeping, Miss Fairlie still playing, Miss Halcombe still reading—­ till the light failed us.  By this time the moon had stolen round to the terrace, and soft, mysterious rays of light were slanting already across the lower end of the room.  The change from the twilight obscurity was so beautiful that we banished the lamps, by common consent, when the servant brought them in, and kept the large room unlighted, except by the glimmer of the two candles at the piano.

For half an hour more the music still went on.  After that the beauty of the moonlight view on the terrace tempted Miss Fairlie out to look at it, and I followed her.  When the candles at the piano had been lighted Miss Halcombe had changed her place, so as to continue her examination of the letters by their assistance.  We left her, on a low chair, at one side of the instrument, so absorbed over her reading that she did not seem to notice when we moved.