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Lady Bors looked scared, Sir Dinadan crossed himself, the Baron eyed the Professor doubtfully, the minstrel over in the corner laid down his harp, and relieved his overcharged feelings by bursting into tears, which he wiped away with the sleeve of his tunic.

“It must be magic,” said the Baron, at last; “no mere man could hide an angelic spirit in such a place, and compel it to sing.”

“Allow me to explain,” said the Professor; and then he unfolded the mechanism, and showed the method of its operation. “My daughter sang up several songs for me before we left home. They were stored away here for future use. Tilly, my love, sing something, so that our friends can perceive that it is the same voice.”

Miss Baffin, after some hesitation, began “The Last Rose of Summer.” While she sang, Sir Dinadan looked at her with rapture depicted on his countenance. When she had done he reflected for an instant, and then, rising and walking over to the place where the minstrel sat, he seized by the ear that unfortunate operator with defective minor scales, and, leading him to the door, he kicked him into the hall.