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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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St. Clare rose up and walked thoughtfully up and down the verandah, seeming to forget everything in his own thoughts; so absorbed was he, that Tom had to re- mind him twice that the tea-bell had rung, before he could get his attention. St. Clare was absent and thoughtful, all tea-time. After tea, he and Marie and Miss Ophelia took possession of the parlor, almost in silence. Marie disposed herself on a lounge, under a silken mosquito curtain, and was soon sound asleep. Miss Ophelia silently busied herself with her knitting. St. Clare sat down to the piano, and began playing a soft and melancholy movement with the AEolian accompaniment. He seemed in a deep reverie, and to be solilo- quizing to himself by music. After a little, he opened one of the drawers, took out an old music-book whose leaves were yellow with age, and began turning it over. “There,” he said to Miss Ophelia, “this was one of my mother’s books,- and here is her handwriting,- come and look at it. She copied and arranged this from Mozart’s Requiem.” Miss Ophelia came accordingly. “It was something she used to sing often,” said St. Clare. “I think I can hear her now.” He struck a few majestic chords, and began singing that grand old Latin piece, the “Dies Irae.” Tom, who was listening in the outer verandah, was drawn by the sound to the very door, where he stood earnestly. He did not understand the words, of course; but the music and manner of singing appeared to affect him strongly, especially |
