Another month had nearly pa.s.sed. The weather was much warmer, but there was a great incentive to hard work--the book was nearly finished. Quincy had sent down a package of books soon after his return home, and Alice and Rosa had worked even harder than in June.

Another letter went from Miss Very to Mr. Sawyer. It contained but a few words: "The book is done. Miss Pettengill herself wrote the words, 'The end,' on the last page, signed her name, and dated it 'July 30, 186--.'

She awaits your verdict."

The first Sunday in August found the young ladies again expectant. Once more they sat on a Sunday morning awaiting the advent of their gentlemen friends. The day was pleasant, but warm. Soon a voice was heard at the front door. Both ladies listened intently; but one person, evidently, was coming upstairs. Alice thought it must be Mr. Sawyer, while Rosa said to herself, "I think it must be Mr. Ernst."

A light knock, the door was opened and Quincy entered.

Rosa looked up inquiringly.

"Mr. Ernst," said Quincy, "wished me to present his regrets at not being able to accompany me. The fact is he will be very busy this coming week.

He is going to try to close up his work, so that he can come down next Sat.u.r.day. He intends to take a month's vacation. I shall come with him, and we will endeavor to have a fitting celebration of the completion of your book, Miss Pettengill. You young ladies look very cool and comfortable this hot day."

They were both dressed in white, Alice with a sash of blue, while Rosa wore one of pink.

"Then we shall have no reading till next Sunday," remarked Rosa.

"Yes," said Quincy, seating himself in one of the willow rockers; "we have decided upon the following programme, if it meets with Miss Pettengill's approval. I am to listen to the remainder of the book to-day. I will hand the complete ma.n.u.script over to him to-morrow afternoon. He will then finish the chapters that he has not read and turn the work over to his firm, with his approval, before he comes down for his rest. If the work is accepted, Mr. Morton, one of the firm, will write him to that effect."

"The plan is certainly satisfactory to me," said Alice, "and Miss Very and I will be delighted to contribute our aid to the proposed celebration."

Rosa then resumed her reading. But dinner time came before it was completed. At that meal they were all introduced to Captain Henry Marble.

"My only brother," Mrs. Gibson said, by way of introduction. "He's just home from a cruise. His ship is at New Bedford. He is going to take the children out late this afternoon for a sail in the harbor. He always does when he comes here. Wouldn't you ladies and Mr. Sawyer like to go with him?"

Captain Marble repeated the invitation, adding that he was an old sailor, that he had a large sailboat, and that they were "only going to Wauwinet, not out to sea, you know, but only up the inner harbor, which is just like a pond, you know."

Rosa thought it would be delightful, but such a trip had no attractions for Alice, and it was finally decided that Rosa should go, while Alice and Mr. Sawyer would remain at home.

The reading of the remaining chapters of Blennerha.s.sett was completed by three o'clock, and at quarter of four, Miss Very, attired in a natty yachting costume, which formed part of her summer outfit, was ready to accompany Captain Marble and the children on their trip.

When they were alone Quincy turned to Alice and said, "I bought another song yesterday morning, which I thought you might like to hear."

"Is it another German song?" asked Alice.

"No," replied Quincy, as he took a roll from the piano and opened it.

"It is a duet; the music is by Bosco, but you can tell nothing by that.

The composer's real name may be Jones or Smith."

He seated himself at the piano and played it through, as he had done with that other song two long months before.

"I think it more beautiful than the other," said Alice. "Are the words as sweet as those in that other song?"

"Then you have not forgotten the other one," said Quincy, earnestly.

"How could I forget it?" answered Alice. "Rosa has sung it to me several times, but it did not sound to me as it did when you sang it."

"I will sing this one to you," said he; and Alice came and stood by his side at the piano.

Quincy felt that the time to which he had looked forward so long had come at last. He could restrain the promptings of his heart no longer.

He loved this woman, and she must know it; even if she rejected that love, he must tell her.

"It is called 'The Bird of Love,'" he said. Then he played the prelude to the song. He sang as he had never sung before; all the power and pathos and love that in him lay were breathed forth in the words and music of that song.

With his voice lingering upon the last word, he turned and looked up at Alice. Upon her face there was a startled, almost frightened look.

"Shall I read the words to you, Miss Pettengill?" There was almost a command in the way he said it. His love had o'ermastered his politeness.

Alice said nothing, but bowed her head.

Then Quincy recited the words of the song. He had no need to read them, for he knew them by heart. It seemed to him that he had written the words himself. He did not even remember the author's name, and Alice stood with bowed head and closed eyes and drank in these words as they fell from his lips:

In this heart of mine the bird of love Has built a nest, Has built a nest.

And so she has in mine!

Response: And so she has in mine!

And she toils both day and night, no thought Of food or rest Of food or rest, And sings this song divine.

Response: And sings this song divine.

Duet: All the day long, Such a sweet song, Teaching love true, I love! Do you?

When Quincy came to the last line, instead of reading it he turned to the piano and sang it with even more pa.s.sion in his voice than at first.

"Will you try it over with me?" he said. And without waiting for her reply he dashed off the prelude.

Their voices rang out together until they reached the line, "And so she has in mine." As Alice sang these words she opened her eyes and looked upward. A smile of supreme joy spread over and irradiated her face. Her voice faltered; she stopped, then she caught at the piano with her right hand. She tottered and would have fallen if Quincy had not sprung up and taken her in his arms.

"Is it true, Alice?" cried he; "is it so? Can you truly say, 'And so she has in mine?'"

And Alice looked up at him with that glorious smile still upon her face and softly whispered, "'And so she has in mine,' Quincy."

Quincy led her to the lounge by the window, through which the cool evening breeze was blowing, and they sat down side by side. It has been truly said that the conversations of lovers are more appreciated by themselves than by anybody else, and it is equally true that at the most tender moment, in such conversations, intensely disagreeable interruptions are likely to occur.

Sometimes it is the well-meaning but unthinking father; again it is the solicitous but inquisitive mother; but more often it is the unregenerate and disrespectful young brother or sister. In this case it was Miss Rosa Very, who burst into the room, bright and rosy, after her trip upon the water. As she entered she cried out, "Oh! you don't know what you missed. I had a most delightful--" She stopped short, the truth flashed upon her that there were other delightful ways of pa.s.sing the time than in a sailboat. She was in a dilemma.

Quincy solved the problem. He simply said, "Good-by, Alice, for one short week."

He turned, expecting to see Miss Very, but she had vanished. He clasped Alice in his arms, and kissed her, for the first time, then he led her to her easy-chair and left her there.

As he quitted the room and closed the door he met Miss Rosa Very in the entry.

"I did not know," said she, "but I am so glad to know it. She is the sweetest, purest, loveliest woman I have ever known, and your love is what she needed to complete her happiness. She will be a saint now. I will take good care of her, Mr. Sawyer, until you come again, for I love her, too."

Quincy pressed her hand warmly, and the next moment was in the little street. He was a rich man, as the world judges riches, but to him his greatest treasure was Alice's first kiss, still warm upon his lips.