"
CHAPTER VII
NOT A MIRACLE
Madge was simply fatigued from her long journey, and not oppressed
with want of sleep, for in passing through uninteresting portions of
the country she had given herself up to repose. The sense of weariness
passed with the hours of night, and she was among the earliest
stirring in the morning. Long before breakfast was ready she had
her trunks partially unpacked, her mind meantime busy with plans for
immediate action. At last her healthful appetite so asserted itself
that she went down to the dining-room. Mr. and Mrs. Muir had not yet
appeared, and she strolled into the parlor, opened her piano, and
played a few runs. She found it sadly out of tune from long disuse.
As this was not true of her voice, she began singing a favorite German
song.
In a moment the house was full of melody. Clear, sweet, and powerful,
her notes penetrated to the kitchen, where the maids were busy, and
they stopped in spellbound wonder, with dish or utensil in hand. Mrs.
Muir listened with her hair-brush suspended, while methodical Mr. Muir
laid down his razor, and, going to the door, set it ajar. The song
poured into the room like an harmonic flood. Before the first stanza
was completed Mrs.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88