A light touch on the ivory keys made the piano sing several ascending notes. It was a monotonous tune which Gracie had to play. Up and down, her fingers danced, playing a well-practiced lesson which she almost knew by heart. Suddenly, a clamor of discordant notes rang rudely through the air.

"Enna, stop that!" Gracie cried as her cousin hammered the keys. Enna giggled and grinned mischievously.

"Why?" she asked tauntingly. "I'm only having some fun!" With Gracie's own doll in her hand she pounded the delicate figurine up and down against the keys to make a ruckus.

"Because, you are ruining everything!" Grace exclaimed. "You have spoiled my piano lesson, and you are going to break my doll! Oh, do stop, Enna! Please!" She made a snatching motion toward the dear little doll which her mother had given her. But Enna dodged and ran out of reach. The naughty child giggled and stuck out her tongue in defiance.

"She is my dolly now!" she sneered. "You don't play with dolls. Remember?"

Grace drew in a deep breath that shook with suppressed emotions. "That doesn't matter. She is still mine. She was a gift from Mamma and I don't want you to break her!"

"I'll break her if I wish to!" Enna shouted, stamping her little foot. "She is mine now. See?" With an insolent look, she threw the doll down on the ground as hard as she could. Grace gave a cry of dismay as she heard the porcelain face crack.

Enna gave a start. Whether she had really meant to break the doll or not, she had truly done it. The girl's face flushed crimson with shame. Then she scrambled to defend herself. "There!" she shrieked. "It serves her right! I never liked her anyway. Stupid doll!"

Grace's heart shattered. Day after day, she endured her cousin's awful behavior. But how could she stand it another minute? "Enna, you're wicked!" she cried. "How dare you break my doll! It was mine and you know it! You horrible, horrible girl!"

The sound of footsteps gave both of the children a start. Turning whiter than ever, Gracie looked up at her aunt, Amelia.

"Grace, what on earth has gotten into you?" Mrs. Carlyle gasped. "Did I actually hear you raise your voice? And to MY little daughter? Explain yourself, child!"

Gracie burst into a fit of sobs. "Auntie, she broke it! She broke my doll on purpose!" she wept. "Just look at my poor dolly!" The girl rose from her piano bench and sought to lift her injured doll from the floor, but Enna snatched it up first and then ran to her mother's arms.

"She's lying, Mummy! She's lying! It was an accident!" the little girl bawled. "Grace is mean and horrid!"

Mrs. Carlyle pressed the child to her heart and ran her fingers through Enna's perfect, blonde curls. "There, there love! Do not cry so! Tell me just what happened," she said gently. Enna wept all the harder just to prove how badly she had been wronged. She squealed out a lying story of accidental woes and painted Grace as a perfect villainess.

"She knocked Dolly right out of my hands!" she cried. "And now Dolly is broken! I loved my dolly, Mummy! I want a new one! NOW!"

Gracie stood, livid. The blood kept rushing to her cheeks and then fading away as her heart ached with sorrow. She could see on Amelia's face that the woman believed every lie.

"Grace, this is unacceptable," Mrs. Carlyle stated coldly. "What possessed you to do such a thing to my little darling? I have tried very hard to turn you into a well-behaved young woman; yet, you fight Enna tooth and nail for a ridiculous toy! I am so ashamed! What will Arthur think when he comes and sees that you are such a bad-tempered, ill-mannered child?"

The last words hurt Gracie's heart more than anything else could. What was a broken doll compared to the awful thought of disappointing her idolized brother? But what could she do to defend herself? She hid her face in her hands, with tears falling through her fingers, and listened as Amelia went on.

"Well, the only thing I can do is punish you," the woman said bitterly. "You will sit back down and practice that lesson until you can play it perfectly. And then you will go to your room and stay there for the rest of the day without any books or entertainment. Now, take out your handkerchief and dry your eyes immediately. It is unsightly to cry over something so small."

Mrs. Carlyle left her niece to obey her commands, leading Enna away with her. Finally, Grace managed to stop crying. Then, feeling broken and angry, she set her fingers on the piano keys and ran them up and down in the same pattern, stumbling now and then with an unnerving noise.

Time dragged on and on. It felt like hours. Gracie practiced until she hated the sound of that monotonous song. Then, her anger melted into bored, hopeless compliance. At last, she gave up her inner fight with a sigh and resigned herself to a state of unhappy subjection.

Halfway through her lesson, she couldn't help giving some thought to the riddle she and Timothy had found. And then the melody which she had built around the somber words started echoing in her memory. She paused for a second, abandoned her lesson, and pressed down the chord of A minor. One note followed another until the song in her aching heart began to form. Then, in a quiet voice she began to sing, "In darkness thou shalt find an end. The ancient sentinel standeth guard..."

She sang the whole riddle two or three times, getting better at it all the while. For just a few minutes, joy started rising up within her as the delightful mystery captivated her mind. But the moment was quick to end.

"It is a beautiful melody," a voice suddenly said. The girl gave a start and turned around. Her eyes were full of fear and astonishment, but a sparkling smile met her startled gaze. In the doorway, Mr. Bently stood. He looked dashingly handsome as the sunlight turned his hair to gold and made his dark eyes shine.

"Forgive me," he apologized. "It was the furthest thing from my intentions to frighten you! My name is Bently; Jonathan Bently." He moved forward to receive the polite hand which the girl offered him.

"My name is Grace Lansbury."

"It is the greatest honor to meet you!" he said, bowing over her hand with an air of chivalry. "I beg your pardon for interrupting your performance. But the music drew me in. Where did you learn it?"

Gracie folded her hands in her lap and looked down with a humble blush. Mr. Bently's voice was clear and kind. His eyes sparkled with animation and cheer. There was something so charming about him.

"I...read the words on a piece of paper in my bedroom," the girl replied shyly. "Lady Denzell wrote them. And then...well, I made up the tune myself."

A look of astonishment and interest filled Bently's eyes. "You mean to say that you invented that lovely piece of music?" he asked with pleasure. "Well, I call that an exceptional talent! Your mother and father must be very proud of you!"

Gracie tried to smile, but she couldn't. And she knew if she uttered a word, she wouldn't be able to keep herself composed. As her countenance fell, the young man's cheerful face softened with concern.

"Dear girl, have I upset you?" he asked.

Gracie quickly shook her head. "Oh, no, sir! Not at all!" she answered with a quaver. "It is nothing, really."

"Nothing?" the man repeated in sympathy. "Miss Lansbury, you are crying. What is wrong?" he asked.

"I am so sorry!" she sniffled. "It's only that...I have no mother or father now." Her last words ended with a quiet sob, and she hid her face in her hands.

"Oh, what a blundering idiot I am!" Bently mourned. "I should not have spoken without knowledge. But, dear child, do not cry, I beg you. It rends my heart to see you so. Besides, what I said yet stands true. I do believe your parents would have been proud of you. Who could not be? I have only seen you at a glance, and yet I know that you are likely the most talented young lady I have ever met!"

"Really?" the little girl asked, lifting her teary eyes toward him.

"I pledge my life upon it!" the man answered boldly.

"But...Auntie and Uncle do not think so," Grace sobbed. "Auntie says I am childish and ill-mannered, and she says I don't study hard enough. Oh, perhaps it is true! What will Arthur think of me?" The child's distress, and her sorrowful words made Bently's face cloud with a sorrow that seemed almost defensive.

"What does it matter what others might think?" he asked. "Let them think what they will."

"But perhaps they are right!" the girl cried.

"No, they are not right. I know it in my heart of hearts." He knelt down to look into her tearful eyes and slipped his own pocket handkerchief into her cold, white hands. "Grant me one moment to speak, Miss Lansbury, and hearken. If I could give you one word of wisdom, I would tell you that you must know your own heart and choose your own path. There is a whole world of people with differing opinions. All of them will want you to go somewhere and do something; to be someone you are not. But where do you wish to go? What do you want to do? Those are questions you must ask yourself one day. And only you have the answers to them."

"But I am just a little girl!" Gracie whimpered. "How could I have the answers to anything?"

"A little girl?" Mr. Bently repeated with a humored smile. "I see a young rosebud nearly ready to burst into bloom. And I daresay, you are going to be very pretty when you are grown. You are everything your name implies: graceful, beautiful, lovely. Accept who you are, Miss Lansbury, and do not let anyone change you."

Grace dried her tears and stared into Bently's eyes, feeling awed by his poetic words. Flattery has a way of melting our pains, and her aching heart was soothed a great deal by the bold confidence which the man had in her.

When Mr. Bently left, Gracie played her new song once more and then fell back into her piano lesson until she could play it without making one mistake. Then, as her Aunt had promised, she was sent to her room to spend the rest of the day all alone with nothing to do.

She lay on her bed until the shadows were growing dark and long. The intense quiet was enough to drive her mad with boredom. But it was broken at last by the sound of a gentle tap on her door.

"Gracie, are ya in there?" she heard a little boy whisper.

"Timothy, is that you?" Grace asked. She bounded to the door and rested her hand on the knob, but she didn't dare to open it.

"There ain't nuffin' more for me t' do downstairs. 'Least, not for a while! D'ya wanna go out an' play by the sea?" her friend asked excitedly. Gracie's heart sank.

"I'm afraid I can't," she answered in a gloomy voice. "Auntie said that I must stay here all evening."

"What? All locked up in yer room?" Tim exclaimed. "Why? What did ya do?"

"I didn't do anything!" she answered earnestly. Then, thinking again, she bit one of her fingernails and admitted, "I suppose I might have raised my voice to Enna. But I couldn't very well help it! She broke my doll. My good, beautiful doll! And then she blamed me for it and made it seem as if I had been cruel and dreadful! So Auntie sent me here and told me to stay until morning. But...I am not locked in." Temptation came and whispered in the girl's ears. "If I wanted to, I could slip out," she went on thoughtfully. "And then, we could go down through the servant's halls and no one would see us. They wouldn't miss me for a couple of hours!"

Outside, Timothy's face clouded sadly, and he shook his head. "But, Gracie, that wouldn't be right at all!" he said. "It'd be a lie. It'd be dishonest. No, no. I'm afraid you'll 'ave t' stay put in there like the lady said. But, I'm awful sorry."

A touch of rebellion and self-pity sent a pain through Grace's heart. She had never really felt rebellious before. But new thoughts were building in her mind, and new feelings were racing through her heart.

"Timothy, sometimes I could scream!" she wept. "It wouldn't be ladylike, but I don't care! I am not a lady! I don't want to be one! Sometimes I wish I could run away and be an actress in the circus! If that is what I want to do, shouldn't I be able to do it? I think Mr. Bently would say so!"

"But would Jesus say so?" Tim asked. The words made Gracie's rising temper cool suddenly. "Is that what he'd want ya t' do?"

"I...don't know," the girl answered hesitantly.

"I do," Timothy stated. "I know Jesus wouldn't want ya t' run off. B'sides, the circus is smelly an' full o' the wrong sort! Ya wouldn't be 'appy there, not a bit! But, if you'll do what Jesus wants ya to, you'll always 'ave somefing t' be 'appy about. B'sides, ya wouldn't wanna run off anyhow, ain't yer brother comin' soon?"

Grace had almost forgotten that Arthur was on his way. Her heart lifted with hope. "Yes! Yes, he is! And when he comes, everything will be better, I am sure it will! Oh, Timothy, I am sorry for being so naughty! I can't help it sometimes! But I will try very hard to be good. I will try to make Arthur proud of me."

"Try t' make God proud o' you, Gracie. That'd be even better," her friend suggested. Grace agreed, but her mind was more focused on her big brother than it was on her real Savior. She spent the rest of her day dreaming about his arrival and letting her hopes build higher and higher.

It would be such a joyous time when Arthur came back home. She could vaguely remember the last time he had hugged her. She had been such a little thing that he had lifted her into his arms and had swung her around in a circle. How she longed to feel those arms tighten around her again. They would be like a fortress. She would run to them whenever she was afraid and whenever she needed help. Arthur would rescue her. He would love her and make her happy.