And now you thought you heard the lullaby which a fairy might sing to some fretful changeling it had adopted and sought to soothe.

Liquid, low, silvery, streamed the tones beneath the enchanted bow.

The most stubborn grief would have paused to hear; and withal, at times, out came a wild, merry, ringing note, like a laugh, but not mortal laughter.

It was one of his most successful airs from his beloved opera,--the Siren in the act of charming the waves and the winds to sleep.

Heaven knows what next would have come, but his arm was arrested.
Viola had thrown herself on his breast, and kissed him, with happy eyes that smiled through her sunny hair.