At the Gate of Eden 
     
    
   
   
    
     able wrong. How dared they doom her to 
     
     such an existence? If her defect of utter— 
     
     ance had been attended to in time, who 
     
     knew but that it might have been cured? 
     
     Now it was probably too late. Nature had 
     
     given her a royal birthright of beauty and 
     
     talent, but their selfish and unpardonable 
     
     neglect had made it of no account. 
     
    

    
     What divine music she lured out of the 
     
     old violin—merry and sad, gay and sor- 
     
     rowful by turns, music such as the stars 
     
     of morning might have made singing to— 
     
     gether, music that the fairies might have 
     
     danced to in their revels among the green 
     
     hills or on yellow sands, music that might 
     
     have mourned over the grave of a dead 
     
     hope. Then she drifted into a still 
     
     sweeter strain. As he listened to it he 
     
     realized that the whole soul and nature of 
     
     the girl were revealing themselves to him 
     
     through her music—the beauty and pur- 
     
     ity of her thoughts, her childhood dreams 
     
     and her maiden reveries. There was no 
     
     thought of concealment about her; she 
     
    

    
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