had been empty, were suddenly filled. He
looked round presently at the new arrivals:
they were much the same as the old ones, with
the exception of the woman who occupied the
seat nearest to his own, and who seemed as if
she must be there by some strange mistake, so
entirely dropped out of another world did she
appear. When he first perceived her she was
leaning back in a position of listless repose
against the rail of the bench, with her face
turned away from him. All that was offered to
him for speculation was a tall, slight figure,
without any crinoline, clad in a dress of violet
velvet, made high to the throat; and a delicate
throat that seemed almost too small and slender
to support the weight of the great masses of
fair hair which were loosely wound round a
stately head of most noble shape, and confined
by a magnificent diamond comb— the only
ornament she wore: just thrown over her shoulders
hung a mantle, also of violet velvet, richly
bordered with sables. He watched in vain for
a glimpse of her countenance; she was
completely absorbed with the leisurely survey she
was taking of the room, and was evidently looking
for some one she expected to meet. At last
she found the face she was seeking for, upon
the platform; and immediately made a quiet,
hardly perceptible, little inward gesture with
her hands, pointing to herself as though she
would say, "Here I am." Edward Saville
followed the direction of this slight movement, and
saw it smilingly acknowledged from above by a
young woman dressed in a stuff gown of the
commonest description, a rather shabby tweed
shawl, and a coarse black straw bonnet. She
had sharp features and a bright colour, and no
one would have remarked a person of such
ordinary appearance, but for the odd fact of her
holding a grey worsted stocking in her hand, at
which she was indefatigably knitting while the
music went on, and for the still stranger
circumstance of her relation (whatever it might
be) with the distinguished-looking woman in the
front row. Edward Saville and she were both
at the extreme end of the hall; the woman in
the orchestra was opposite to them and to their
left; so that the violet lady still had her head
turned away from him. The evening wore on,
the concert progressed, and Mrs. Brande's place
remained vacant. It was very unaccountable
what could have detained her? Or had she
changed her mind, and altogether given up her
expedition to town? This was not the only
disappointment of the evening; he had reckoned
upon hearing Piatti, but there was no sign of
him; and Hallé's accustomed place at the
pianoforte was filled by a lady, who was playing
delightfully one of Beethoven's divine sonatas.

Mr. Saville began to think he must have
made some extraordinary mistake about the day;
he had no programme of his own, so partly to
clear his doubts, and still more in order to
compel his neighbour to look round, he deter-
mined to borrow hers. At the close of the slow
movement of the sonata, he asked her for it;
and, startled by his voice, she turned suddenly
towards him. What a face it was! Deathly
white, with lips as colourless as her cheeks, and
preternaturally large light grey eyes that swam
in tears; they were eyes such as he had never
seen before; so wistful, and woeful, and full of
such a strange pale light. A pathetic Magdalene's
face quite bathed in tears; and the unexpected
apparition of this vision of sorrow, for a
second, took his breath away. He recovered
himself, however, and asked her to lend him the
programme; she gave it to him with a quiet little
bow, and then relapsed into her former half-
reclining attitude, again looking up at her friend,
who looked down and nodded and smiled at her.
He glanced over the programme; Piatti's name
was not mentioned. Miss Arabella Goddard was
the lady at the piano; there was evidently some
blunder about the day. He returned the paper
with thanks; the lady took it with another
slight inclination of the head, while a tremulous
little smile played for a moment round her pale
lips. It was a handsome face undoubtedly, but
that was not the impression that predominated
as one looked upon it; there was some painful
want of harmony in the expression, which made
itself felt above everything else. The upper part
of the face was quite statuesque and cast in the
grand mould of the Niobe; the mouth flexible,
rather large, and vacillating in expression, was
handsome too in shape; but its odd convulsive
movement seemed to change the whole
character of the countenance every moment. She
was evidently extraordinarily affected by music;
for while Joachim was playing a solemn adagio
of Bach's, she shuddered from head to foot and
seemed to shrink together; her face, from white
that it was, grew to an awful ashy grey, while
her eyes, stony and without speculation, became
like those of a sleep-walker. Her appearance at
this moment had something so singular and
terrible about it, that the ladies on the other
side of her could not help observing it; and one
of them pulled a large bottle of smelling-salts
out of her pocket, which she handled nervously
for a few minutes, and then put back again, like
the thorough Englishwoman that she was, not
being able to muster courage to offer it.
Edward Saville raised his eyes to the platform;
the woman in the orchestra was looking
intently down upon her friend, and once or twice
shrugged her shoulders impatiently at the whole
scene.

When the first part was over, the pale lady,
who had seemed under some wicked ban, came
to herself, got up, and walked towards a screen
that stood on the right of the platform and close
to it; her friend immediately left her seat, and
came down to the other side of the screen, and
the two remained at the opening, whispering
together for some little time. Meanwhile,
Joachim entered the room from the door on the
left, and Edward Saville, who was acquainted
with him, crossed over to speak to him. When
the second part began, and he returned to his
place, both the violet lady and her strange
companion were gone.

He left the concert-room at once, rushed like