Leopold's girl, and that the blind lady in the blue dress was Mr.

Quincy's.

After a light supper they again gathered in the parlor and an hour was devoted to music. Leopold neither played nor sang, but he was an attentive and critical listener. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and Leopold asked Rosa if she would not like to take a walk up on the Cliff.

She readily consented, but Alice pleasantly declined Quincy's invitation to accompany them, and for the first time since the old days at Mason's Corner, he and she were alone together.

They talked of Eastborough and Mason's Corner and Aunt Ella for a while.

Then conversation lagged and they sat for a time in a satisfied, peaceful silence.

Suddenly Quincy spoke. "I had almost forgotten, Miss Pettengill, I bought a new song yesterday morning, and I brought it with me. If you have no objection I will try, it over."

"I always enjoy your singing," she replied.

He ran down stairs and soon returned with the music. He seated himself at the piano and played the piece through with great expression.

"It is a beautiful melody," remarked Alice. "What is it?"

"It is a German song," replied Quincy, "by Reichardt. It is called 'Love's Request.' I will sing it this time."

And he did sing it with all the force and fervor of a n.o.ble, manly nature, speaking out his love covertly in the words of another, but hoping in his heart that the beautiful girl who listened to him would forget the author and think only of the singer. How many times young lovers have tried this artful trick, and in what proportion it has been successful only Heaven knows.

"The words are very pretty, are they not?" said Alice. "I was listening so closely to the melody that I did not catch them all."

"I will read them to you," rejoined Quincy, and going to the window, where the light was still bright enough, he read the words of the song in a low, impa.s.sioned voice:

"Now the day is slowly waning, Evening breezes softly, softly moan; Wilt thou ne'er heed my complaining, Canst thou leave me thus alone?

Stay with me, my darling, stay!

And, like a dream, thy life shall pa.s.s away, Like a dream shall pa.s.s away.

"Canst thou thus unmoved behold me, Still untouched by love, by love so deep?

Nay, thine arms more closely fold me, And thine eyes begin to weep!

Stay with me, my darling, stay!

And, like a dream, thy life shall pa.s.s away, Like a dream shall pa.s.s away.

"No regret shall e'er attend thee, Ne'er shall sorrow dim thine eyes; 'Gainst the world's alarms to 'fend thee, Gladly, proudly, would I die!

Stay with me, my darling, stay!

And, like a dream, thy life shall pa.s.s away, Shall pa.s.s away."

As Quincy finished reading, Leopold and Rosa came suddenly into the room.

"We were not eavesdropping," explained Leopold, "but just as we were going to enter the room we heard your voice and knew that you were either reading or speaking a piece, so we waited until you had finished."

"I was only reading the words of a new song that I brought down to Miss Pettengill," said Quincy; "she liked the melody and I thought she would appreciate it still more if she knew the words."

"Exactly," said Leopold; "that's the reason I don't like opera, I mean the singing part. All that I can ever make out sounds like oh! ah! ow!

and when I try to read the book in English and listen to the singers at the same time I am lost in a hopeless maze."

The young gentlemen were soon on their way to their hotel, and the next afternoon found them again in Boston.

The month of June was a busy, but very enjoyable one, for both Alice and Rosa. They were up early in the morning and were at work before breakfast. They ate heartily and slept soundly. Every pleasant afternoon, when tea was over, they went riding. Tommy Gibson held the reins, and although Dolly was not yet in her teens, she knew every nook and corner, and object of interest on the island, and she took a child's delight in pointing them out, and telling the stories that she had heard about them. The books that Quincy brought on his last visit were utilized, and Miss Very made up another list to be sent to him before his next visit.

The proofs of three more stories Mr. Ernst sent down by mail, and after correction, they were returned to him in a similar manner. Little Dolly Gibson was impressed into service as a reader, for Rosa could not read and correct at the same time, and there was no obliging Mr. Sawyer near at hand. As Huldy had said, Alice did miss him. It must be said, in all truthfulness, not so much for himself, but for the services he had rendered. As yet, Alice's heart was untouched.

When Dolly Gibson showed her mother the money that Miss Very had given her, at Alice's direction, she was told to take it right back at once, but Dolly protested that she had earned it, and when her mother asked her to tell how, the child, whose memory was phenomenal, sat down and made her mother's hair stand almost on end and her blood almost run cold with her recitals of the Eight of Spades, The Exit of Mrs. Delmonnay, and He Thought He Was Dead.

"They are immense," cried Dolly, "they beat all the fairy stories I ever read!"

In due time another letter was sent to Mr. Sawyer, informing him that more books were needed, and that more chapters were ready, and on the morning of the last Sunday in June the young ladies were awaiting the arrival of Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Ernst.

The morning had opened with a heavy shower and the sky was still overcast with angry-looking, threatening rain clouds. Within the little parlor all was bright and cheerful.

Familiar voices were heard greeting Mrs. Gibson and the children, and men's footsteps soon sounded upon the stairs. Leopold entered first, and, advancing to Rosa, handed her a large bouquet of beautiful red roses.

"Sweets to the sweet, roses to Miss Rosa," said he, as he bowed and presented them.

"They are beautiful," she exclaimed.

"All roses are considered so," he remarked with a smile.

While this little byplay was going on, Quincy had approached Alice, who, as usual, was sitting by the window, and placed in her hand a small bunch of flowers. As he did so he said in a low voice, "They are forget-me-nots. There is a German song about them, of which I remember a little," and he hummed a few measures.

"Oh! thank you," cried Alice, as she held the flowers before her eyes in a vain effort to see them. "The music is pretty. Can't you remember any of the words?"

"Only a few," replied Quincy. Then he repeated in a low, but clear voice:

"There is the sweet flower They call forget-me-not; That flower place on thy breast, And think of me."

"Say, Quincy, can't you come over here and recite a little poem about roses to Miss Very, just to help me out?" cried Leopold. "All I can think of is:

"The rose is red, The violet's blue--"

"Stop where you are," said Rosa laughingly, "for that will do."

Alice dropped the forget-me-nots, in her lap. The illusion was dispelled.

The newly-completed chapters were next read, and quite a spirited discussion took place in regard to the political features introduced in one of them. Dinner intervened and then the discussion was resumed.

Alice maintained that to write about Aaron Burr and omit politics would be the play of "Hamlet," with Hamlet left out; and her auditors were charmed and yet somewhat startled at the impa.s.sioned and eloquent manner in which she defended Burr's political principles.

When she finished Leopold said, "Miss Pettengill, if you will put in your book the energetic defence that you have just made, I will withdraw my objections."

"You will find that and more in the next chapter," Alice replied.

And the reading was resumed.

The angry, threatening clouds had ma.s.sed themselves once more; the thunder roared; the lightning flashed and the rain fell in torrents.

Leopold walked to the window and looked out. "Walking is out of the question," said he; "will you come for a sail?"

Music filled the evening, and during a lull in the storm the young men reached their lodgings.