She did not draw her hand away. She smiled across to me ever so sweetly and turned from me into the darkness.

Not for an hour did I wake from my reveries. The spell of new influences was upon me; the moon, climbing up among the scudding night-clouds, never seemed so bright before and the phosph.o.r.escent glow and silver streaks on the water never so beautiful.

A light travelled across the parlour over the way. I saw Miss Grant seat herself by the piano, and soon the whole air became charged with the softest, sweetest cadences,--elusive, faint and fairylike.

How I enjoyed them! How old Jake on the cliffs must have enjoyed them!

What an artist the lady was, and how she excelled herself that evening!

I lay in a transport of pleasure, hoping that the music might never cease; but, alas for such vain hoping,--it whispered and died away, leaving behind it only the stillness of the night, the sighing of the wind in the tops of the tall creaking firs, the chirping of the crickets under the stones and the call of the night bird to her mate.

I raised my eyes across to the cottage.

In the lamplight, I could discern the figure of the musician. She was seated on the piano stool, with her hands clasped in front of her and gazing out through the window into the darkness of the night.

Surely it was a night when hypnotising influences were at work with all of us, for I had not yet seen Jake return; he was evidently still somewhere out on the cliffs communing with the spirits that were in the air.

Suddenly I observed a movement in the room over the way.

Miss Grant had roused herself from her dreaming. She raised her hand and put the fingers I had kissed to her own lips. Then she kissed both her hands to the outside world. She lowered the light of the lamp until only the faintest glow was visible.

She ran her fingers over the piano keys in a ripple of simple harmonies. Sweet and clear came her voice in singing. I caught the lilt of the music and I caught the words of the song:--

A maid there was in the North Coun-tree, A shy lit-tle, sweet lit-tle maid was she.

She wished and she sighed for she knew-not-who, So long as he loved her ten-der-lee; And day by day as the long-ing grow, Her spin-ning-wheel whirred and the threads wove through.

It whirred, It whirred, It whirred and the threads wove through.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Song fragment]

A maid there was in the North Countree; A gay little, blythe little maid was she.

Her dream of a gallant knight came true.

He wooed her long and so tenderlee.

And, day by day, as their fond love grew, Her spinning wheel stood with its threads askew; It stood.--It stood.--It stood with its threads askew.

A maid there was in the North Countree; A sad little, lone little maid was she.

Her knight seemed fickle and all untrue As he rode to war at the drummer's dree.

And, day by day, as her sorrow grew, Her spinning wheel groaned and the threads wove through.

It groaned.--It groaned.--It groaned and the threads wove through.

A maid there is in the North Countree; A coy little, glad little maid is she.

Her cheeks are aglow with a rosy hue, For her knight proved true, as good knights should be.

And, day by day, as their vows renew, Her spinning wheel purrs and the threads weave through; It purrs.--It purrs.--It purrs and the threads weave through.

Why she had not sung before, I could not understand, for a voice such as she had was a gift from heaven, and it was sinful to keep it hidden away. It betrayed training, but only in a slight degree; not sufficient to have spoiled the bewitching, vagrant plaintiveness which it possessed; an inexpressible allurement of tone which a few untrained singers have, trained singers never, for the rigours of the training steal away that peculiar charm as the great city does the bloom from the cheek of a country maiden.

I listened for the verses of the song which I knew should follow, but the singer's voice was still and the faint glow of the lamp was extinguished.

CHAPTER XIX

The "Green-eyed Monster" Awakes

Rita had just had her first real lesson in English. Already,--but without giving her the reason why, except that it was incorrect,--I had taught her never to say "ain't" and "I seen"; also that "Gee," "Gosh"

and "you bet your life" were hardly ladylike expressions. She now understood that two negatives made a positive and that she should govern her speech accordingly.

She was an apt pupil; so anxious to improve her way of talking that mine was not a task, it was merely the setting of two little feet on a road and saying, "This is your way home," and those two little feet never deviated from that road for a single moment, never side-stepped, never turned back to pick up the useless but attractive words she had cast from her as she travelled.

How I marvelled at the great difference the elimination of a few of the most common of her slangy and incorrect expressions and the subst.i.tution of plain phrases in their places made in her diction!

Already, it seemed to me as if she understood her English and had been studying it for years.

How easy it was, after all, I fancied, as I followed my train of thought, for one, simply by elimination, to become almost learned in the sight of his fellow men!

But now Rita had been introduced to the whys and wherefores in their simplest forms, so that she should be able, finally, to construct her thoughts for herself, word by word and phrase by phrase, into rounded and completed sentences.

At the outset, I had told her how the greatest writers in English were not above reading and re-reading plain little Grammars such as she was then studying, also that the favourite book of some of the most famous men the world ever knew, a book which they perused from cover to cover, year in and year out, as they would their family Bible,--was an ordinary standard dictionary.

I gave Rita her thin little Grammar and a note book in which to copy her lessons, and she slipped these into her bosom, hugging them to her heart and laughing with pleasure.

She put out her hands and grasped mine, then, in her sweet, unpremeditated way, she threw her arms round my neck and drew my lips to hers.

Dear little girl! How very like a child she was! A creature of impulse, a toy in the hands of her own fleeting emotions!

"Say! George,--I just got to hug you sometimes," she cried, "you are so good to me."

She stood back and surveyed me as if she were trying to gauge my weight and strength.

As it so happened, that was exactly what she was doing.

"You aren't scared of our Joe,--are you?" she asked.

"No!" I laughed. "What put that funny question into your head?"

She became serious.

"Well,--if I thought you were, I wouldn't come back for any more Grammar."

"Why?" I asked.

"Joe's not very well pleased about it. Guess he thinks n.o.body should be able to speak better'n he can."

"Oh!--never mind Joe," I exclaimed. "He'll come round, and your grand-dad's consent is all you need anyway."

"Sure! But I know, all the same, that Joe's got it in for you. He hasn't forgot the words you and he had."

"When did you see him last, Rita?"

"He was in to-day. Wanted to know where I was going. Grand-dad told him, then Joe got mad. Says you're 'too d.a.m.ned interfering.' Yes!