"
"That is sure, Luis."
"And I, too!" said Antonia, smiling. "Here is your mandolin.
Strike the chords, and we will all sing with you. My
father will remember also." And the doctor smiled an assent,
as the young man resigned Isabel's hand with a kiss, and swept
the strings in that sweetness and power which flows invisibly,
but none the less surely, from the heart to the instrument.
"It is to my blessed Lord and Redeemer, I sing," he said,
bowing his head. Then he stood up and looked at his
companions, and struck the key-note, when every one joined
their voices with his in the wonderful little hymn:
So noble a Lord
None serves in vain;
For the pay of my love
Is my love's sweet pain.
In the place of caresses
Thou givest me woes;
I kiss Thy hands,
When I feel their blows.
For in Thy chastening,
Is joy and peace;
O Master and Lord!
Let thy blows not cease.
I die with longing
Thy face to see
And sweet is the anguish
Of death to me.
For, because Thou lovest me,
Lover of mine!
Death can but make me
Utterly Thine!
The doctor was the first to speak after the sweet triumph of
the notes had died away.
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