And the music that belongs to HIS, separate from the instrument, ascends on high, to be heard often by a daughter's pious ears when the heaven is serene and the earth sad.

For there is a sense of hearing that the vulgar know not.

And the voices of the dead breathe soft and frequent to those who can unite the memory with the faith.
And now Viola is alone in the world,--alone in the home where loneliness had seemed from the cradle a thing that was not of nature.

And at first the solitude and the stillness were insupportable.

Have you, ye mourners, to whom these sibyl leaves, weird with many a dark enigma, shall be borne, have you not felt that when the death of some best-loved one has made the hearth desolate,--have you not felt as if the gloom of the altered home was too heavy for thought to bear ?--you would leave it, though a palace, even for a cabin.