instrument (with new strings)--an heirloom in our family, some
centuries old. When you see my harp, you will think of pictures
of St. Cecilia--and you will be treating my performance kindly if
you will remember, at the sam e time, that I am no saint!"

She drew her chair into the firelight, and sounded a whistle
which she took from the pocket of her dress. In another moment
the lithe and shadowy figures of the cats appeared noiselessly in
the red light, answering their mistress's call. I could just
count six of them, as the creatures seated themselves demurely in
a circle round the chair. Peter followed with the harp, and
closed the door after him as he went out. The streak of daylight
being now excluded from the room, Miss Dunross threw back her
veil, and took the harp on her knee; seating herself, I observed,
with her face turned away from the fire.

"You will have light enough to see the cats by," she said,
"without having too much light for _me_. Firelight does not give
me the acute pain which I suffer when daylight falls on my
face--I feel a certain inconvenience from it, and nothing more."

She touched the strings of her instrument--the ancient harp, as
she had said, of the pictured St. Cecilia; or, rather, as I
thought, the ancient harp of the Welsh bards. The sound was at
first unpleasantly high in pitch, to my untutored ear. At the
opening notes of the melody--a slow, wailing, dirgelike air--the
cats rose, and circled round their mistress, marching to the
tune. Now they followed each other singly; now, at a change in
the melody, they walked two and two; and, now again, they
separated into divisions of three each, and circled round the
chair in opposite directions. The music quickened, and the cats
quickened their pace with it. Faster and faster the notes rang
out, and faster and faster in the ruddy firelight, the cats, like
living shadows, whirled round the still black figure in the
chair, with the ancient harp on its knee. Anything so weird,
wild, and ghostlike I never imagined before even in a dream! The
music changed, and the whirling cats began to leap. One perched
itself at a bound on the pedestal of the harp. Four sprung up
together, and assumed their places, two on each of her shoulders.
The last and smallest of the cats took the last leap, and lighted
on her head! There the six creatures kept their positions,
motionless as statues! Nothing moved but the wan, white hands
over the harp-strings; no sound but the sound of the music
stirred in the room. Once more the melody changed. In an instant
the six cats were on the floor again, seated round the chair as I
had seen them on their first entrance; the harp was laid aside;
and the faint, sweet voice said quietly, "I am soon tired--I must
leave my cats to conclude their performances tomorrow."

She rose, and approached the bedside.

"I leave you to see the sunset through your window," she said.
"From the coming of the darkness to the coming of breakfast-time,
you must not count on my services--I am taking my rest. I have no
choice but to remain in bed (sleeping when I can) for twelve
hours or more. The long repose seems to keep my life in me. Have
I and my cats surprised you very much? Am I a witch; and are they
my familiar spirits? Remember how few amusements I have, and you
will not wonder why I devote myself to teaching these pretty
creatures their tricks, and attaching them to me like dogs! They
were slow at first, and they taught me excellent lessons of
patience. Now they understand what I want of them, and they learn
wonderfully well. How you will amuse your friend, when he comes
back from fishing, with the story of the young lady who lives in
the dark, and keeps a company of performing cats! I shall expect
_you_ to amuse _me_ to-morrow--I want you to tell me all about
yourself, and how you came to visit these wild islands of ours.
Perhaps, as the days go on, and we get better acquainted, you
will take me a little more into your confidence, and tell me the
true meaning of that story of sorrow which I read on your face
while you were asleep? I have just enough of the woman left in me
to be the victim of curiosity, when I meet with a person who
interests me. Good-by till to-morrow! I wish you a tranquil
night, and a pleasant waking. - Come, my familiar spirits! Come,
my cat children! it's time we went back to our own side of the
house."

She dropped the veil over her face--and, followed by her train of
cats, glided out of the room.

Immediately on her departure, Peter appeared and drew back the
curtains. The light of the setting sun streamed in at the window.
At the same moment my traveling companion returned in high
spirits, eager to tell me about his fishing in the lake. The
contrast between what I saw and heard now, and what I had seen
and heard only a few minutes since, was so extraordinary and so
startling that I almost doubted whether the veiled figure with
the harp, and the dance of cats, were not the fantastic creations
of a dream. I actually asked my friend whether he had found me
awake or asleep when he came into the room!

Evening merged into night. The Master of Books made his
appearance, to receive the latest news of my health. He spoke and
listened absently as if his mind were still pre-occupied by his
studies--except when I referred gratefully to his daughter's
kindness to me. At her name his faded blue eyes brightened; his
drooping head became erect; his sad, subdued voice strengthened
in tone.

"Do not hesitate to let her attend on you," he said. "Whatever


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