It began to be a pleasure to me to sing in that room.

I had a strange feeling as though my voice were keeping the evil spirits away.

I thought of the shepherd-boy who played before Saul and refreshed the king's tormented mind; and now and then an unuttered prayer would rise to my lips that in this way I might be able to comfort the sad soul that truly Satan had bound.
When my voice grew a little weary, I rose softly and took down the old brown sampler, as I wished to replace it by a little picture I had brought with me.
It was a sacred photograph of the Crucifixion, in a simple Oxford frame, and had always been a great favourite with me; it was less painful in its details than other delineations of this subject: the face of the divine sufferer wore an expression of tender pity.

Beneath the cross the Blessed Virgin and St.John stood with clasped hands,--adopted love and most sacred responsibility,--receiving sanction and benediction.
I had scarcely hung it on the nail before Phoebe's querulous voice remonstrated with me.
'Why can you not leave well alone, Miss Garston?
I was thanking you in my heart for the music, but you have just driven it away.

I cannot have that picture before my eyes; it is too painful.' 'You will not find it so,' I replied quietly; 'it is a little present I have brought you.