A little old-fashioned music-book appeared among the scattered papers, with her name written in it, in faded ink.

She blushed like a young girl in the first happiness of the discovery.

"How good he is to me! He remembers my poor old music-book, and keeps it for my sake." As she sat down by the table and opened the book, the bygone time came back to her in all its tenderness.

The clock struck the half-hour, struck the three-quarters--and still she sat there, with the music-book on her lap, dreaming happily over the old songs; thinking gratefully of the golden days when his hand had turned the pages for her, when his voice had whispered the words which no woman's memory ever forgets.
Norah roused herself from the volume she was reading, and glanced at the clock on the library mantel-piece.
"If papa comes back by the railway," she said, "he will be here in ten minutes." Miss Garth started, and looked up drowsily from the book which was just dropping out of her hand.
"I don't think he will come by train," she replied.

"He will jog back--as Magdalen flippantly expressed it--in the miller's gig." As she said the words, there was a knock at the library door.