"He is good; I feel sure Ezra is good," said Mirah, eagerly. "He loved my mother—he would take care of her. I remember more of him than that. I remember my mother's voice once calling, "Ezra!" and then his answering from the distance, "Mother!"—Mirah had changed her voice a little in each of these words and had given them a loving intonation—"and then he came close to us. I feel sure he is good. I have always taken comfort from that."
It was impossible to answer this either with agreement or doubt. Mrs Meyrick and Deronda exchanged a quick glance: about this brother she felt as painfully dubious as he did. But Mirah went on, absorbed in her memories—
"Is it not wonderful how I remember the voices better than anything else? I think they must go deeper into us than other things. I have often fancied heaven might be made of voices."
"Like your singing—yes," said Mab, who had hitherto kept a modest silence, and now spoke bashfully, as was her wont in the presence of Prince Camaralzaman,—"Ma, do ask Mirah to sing. Mr Deronda has not heard her."
"Would it be disagreeable to you to sing now?" said Deronda, with a more deferential
