She grew pale and ill. She used to try to sing certain songs ("Einsam bin ich nicht alleine," was one of them, that tender love-song of Weber's which in old-fashioned days, young ladies, and when you were scarcely born, showed that those who lived before you knew too how to love and to sing) certain songs, I say, to which the Major was partial; and as she warbled them in the twilight in the drawing-room, she would break off in the midst of the song, and walk into her neighbouring apartment, and there, no doubt, take refuge in the miniature of her husband.

She grew pale and ill. She used to try to sing certain songs which the Major liked; and as she warbled them in the drawing-room, she would break off in the middle, and walk into her room, and there, no doubt, take refuge in the miniature of her husband.
