I may not _believe_, but I never _mock_ at what thou utterest and reverencest." "I could thank thee for this, Raoul, but I feel it would be taking to myself a homage that ought to be paid elsewhere.

But here is my guitar, and I am sorry to say that the hymn to the Virgin has not been sung on board this lugger to-night; thou canst not think how sweet is a hymn sung upon the waters.

I heard the crew that is anchored toward the frigate, singing that hymn, while thy men were at their light Provencal songs in praise of woman's beauty, instead of joining in praise of their Creator." "Thou mean'st to sing thy hymn, Ghita, else the guitar would not have been mentioned ?" "Raoul, I do.

I have ever found thy soul the softest after holy music.
Who knows but the mercy of God may one day touch it through the notes of this very hymn!" Ghita paused a moment, and then her light fingers passed over the strings of her guitar in a solemn symphony; after which came the sweet strains of "Ave Maria," in a voice and melody that might, in sooth, have touched a heart of stone.

Ghita, a Neapolitan by birth, had all her country's love for music; and she had caught some of the science that seems to pervade nations in that part of the world.