to the desire of giving comfort.

Bankside was basking in summer sunshine, with small patches of shade
round its young shrubs and trees, and a baking heat on the little
porch.

The maid believed Miss Ward was in the garden. Mr. Leonard had been
taken out to-day; and the Doctor moving on, they found themselves in
the cool pretty drawing-room, rather overcrowded with furniture and
decoration, fresh and tasteful, but too much of it, and a contrast to
the Mays' mixture of the shabby and the curious, in the room that was
so decidedly for use, and not for show.

What arrested the attention was, however, the very sweetest singing
Ethel had ever heard. The song was low and sad, but so intensely
sweet, that Dr. May held up his hand to silence all sound, and stood
with restrained breath and moistened eyes. Ethel, far less sensitive
to music, was nevertheless touched as she had never before been by
sound; and the more, as she looked through the window and saw in the
shade of a walnut-tree, a sofa, at the foot of which sat Averil Ward
in her deep mourning, her back to the window, so that only her young
figure and the braids of her fair hair were to be seen; and beyond,
something prostrate, covered with wrappers. The sweet notes ended,
Dr. May drew a deep sigh, wiped his spectacles, and went on; Ethel
hung back, not to startle the invalid by the sight of a stranger; but
as Averil rose, she saw him raising himself, with a brightening smile
on his pale face, to hold out his hand to the Doctor. In another
minute Averil had come to her, shaken hands, and seated herself where
she could best command a view of her brother.