for a few minutes, she fell into a low and very solemn air, and as she played it they heard her sob as if she were weeping.
"Rose, my dear?" said the elder lady.
Rose made no reply, but played a little quicker, as though the sound had roused her from some painful thoughts.
"Rose, my love!" cried Mrs. Maylie, rising hastily, and bending over her. "What is this? Your face is bathed in tears. My dear child, what distresses you?"
"Nothing, aunt,—nothing," replied the young lady. "I don't know What it is; I can't describe it; but I feel so low to-night, and—"
"Not ill, my love?" interposed Mrs. Maylie.
"No, no! Oh, not ill!" replied Rose, shuddering as though some deadly chillness were passing over her while she spoke; "at least I shall be better presently. Close the window, pray."
Oliver hastened to comply with the request; and the young lady, making an effort to recover her cheerfulness, strove to play some livelier
