He did not see the lonely figure sitting there before the hearth, but turned aside ere he neared it and entered an unlighted room, shutting himself gently in.
Again the silence descended, but only for a few seconds.

Then softly it was dispelled, as through it there stole the tender, passionate-sweet harmonies of a Chopin nocturne.
At the first note Sir Beverley started, almost winced as at the sudden piercing of a nerve.

Then as the music continued, he leaned rigidly back again and became as still as before.
Very softly the music thrilled through the silence.

It might have come from somewhere very far away.

There was something almost unearthly about it, a depth and a mystery that seemed to spread as it were invisible wings, filling the place with dim echoes of the Divine.
It died away at last into a silence like the hush of prayer.