When I ceased, I found that
Mr. Bovyer had joined us. I rose hastily. "I am so glad you have come;
you will reward my obedience to Mr. Winthrop, surely?"
"Yes--by asking for some more of that tender music of the Fatherland. My
mother used to croon that song over us in childhood."
Mr. Winthrop joined his commands; so I complied, with a German martial
song; and then, rising quickly, I went to the further side of the room,
and took a seat beside Mrs. Hill.
"You have got tired before the rest of us, dear."
"I would not like to tire you. Mr. Bovyer is going to play now, and we
shall none of us be in danger of weariness."
And he did play as I had never heard him do before, filling the room with
harmonies that sometimes grew painful in their excess of sweetness.
Conversation ceased utterly--a compliment not usually paid to musicians,
I had noticed, in Cavendish.
I glanced occasionally at Mr. Winthrop, who had taken a seat not far from
where I was sitting. He sat with eyes closed, but not betraying, by a
single muscle of the strong, self-contained face, that the music was
affecting him in the slightest.
"This evening has given us something to remember until our dying day,"
Mrs. Hill said, with a deep sigh of satisfaction, after Mr. Bovyer ceased
playing. "It was exceedingly kind in Mr. Winthrop permitting us to share
in the evening's enjoyment."
"Was it for this he invited you?" I asked, with surprise.
"That was the inducement to leave our homes on Christmas Day.
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