"Nobody else wants me!" breathed Mabel in his ear, nestling within

the arm that enfolded and held her tightly in the corner of the

piazza shaded by the creeper. "The danger of losing me is not

imminent to-night, at all events," she resumed, presently, with a

touch of the sportiveness that lent her manner an airy charm in

lighter talk than that which had engrossed her for the past hour.

The evening was warm and still to sultriness, and the moonlight,

filtered into pensive pallor through a low-lying haze, yet sufficed

to show how confidingly Imogene leaned upon her attendant in

sauntering dowa the long main alley of the garden. Rosa was at the

piano in the parlor, singing to the enamored Alfred. Mrs. Sutton had

withdrawn to her own room to ruminate upon the astounding disclosure

of her nephew's engagement, while Winston bent over his study-table

busy with the interrupted letter his aunt had seen in his portfolio.

"There is no one here who has the leisure or the disposition to

contest your rights, you perceive," said Mabel, running through a

laughing summary of their companions' occupations.

"Betrothals are epidemic in this household and neighborhood,"

Winston was writing. "There are no fewer than three pairs of turtles

cooing down stairs as I pen this to you, my bird of paradise. The

case that next to mine--to ours--commands my interest is that of my

sister. I came home to learn that the little Mabel I used to hold on

my knee had entered into an engagement--conditional upon my

sanction--with that traditional tricky personage, a Philadelphia

lawyer--Mr. Frederic Chilton, at the door of whose manifold

perfections, as set forth by my loquacious aunt, you may lay the

blame of this delayed epistle. I know nothing of this aspirant to

the dignity of brotherhood with myself, saving the facts that he is

tolerably good looking, claims to be the scion of an old Maryland

family, and that self-conceit is apparently his predominant

quality."

"What is that?" asked Frederic, halting before the windows, of the

drawing-room, as a wild, sorrowful strain, like the wail of a

breaking heart, arose upon the waveless air.

Rosa was a vocalist of note in her circle, and she had never

rendered anything with more effect than she did the song to which

even the preoccupied strollers among the garden borders stayed their

steps to listen. Through the open casement Mabel and her lover could

see the face of the musician, slightly uplifted toward the

moonlight; her eyes, dark and dreamy, as under the cloud of many

years of weary waiting and final hopelessness. Her articulation was

always pure, but the passionate emphasis of every word constrained

the breathless attention of her audience to the close of the simple

lay: "Thy name was once the magic spell

By which my thoughts were bound;

And burning dreams of light and love

Were wakened by the sound.

My heart beat quick when stranger-tongues,

With idle praise or blame,

Awoke its deepest thrill of joy

To tremble at thy name.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024