Van Duren recovered himself with an effort. "The guitar has always been associated in my mind," he said, "with love-songs and serenades, with moonlight and romance." "Then here's a little serenade for you. I, who sing, am supposed to be a cavalier. If your imagination will carry you so far, you can fancy yourself to be the lady thus lovingly addressed." She struck a chord or two on the guitar, and began as follows:-- "What throbs through the song of the nightingale? What makes the red heart of the rose turn pale? Love, burning love. What makes me grow drowsy 'neath midsummer skies? What makes me a slave to my lady's dark eyes? Love, burning love." One verse will be quite enough for the reader. Miriam's voice was a rich, clear contralto, which she managed with considerable skill. Now and again as she sang, she shot a glance out of her dangerous black eyes at the rapt listener sitting opposite to her. Her father, in his easy-chair by the fire, gave no further sign of existence than by the troublesome cough which seized him every few minutes, and shook him like a leaf. As the last line thrilled from Miriam's lips, Van Duren sank down on one knee before her, and tried to seize her hand. With a little involuntary shudder, she drew it away from him. Then he grasped a fold of her dress, and pressed it passionately to his lips. "Miriam Miriam! do not repulse me, but listen to me!" he cried. "You, who can give such passionate expression to the words of a mere love-song, must have felt and known that I loved you from the first moment that I saw you. I cannot ask or expect that you should give me back such a love as I now offer you. But try to like me a little--consent to be my wife--and I will do all that lies in the power of mortal man to make you happy!" "Oh, Mr. Van Duren, you do indeed surprise me!" was all Miriam said. But she was not surprised in the least. "I am richer than the world gives me credit for being," pursued Van Duren. "I have led a quiet, saving life for years; but all that shall be changed if you will only become mine. I can afford to let my wife live as a lady ought to live; I can afford to----" "Oh, Mr. Van Duren, you must not talk in that way." "I am quite aware," he pleaded, "that there is a very wide difference between your age and mine, but----" "That would make no difference in my feelings towards any one for whom I really cared." "If you would only try to care a little for me!" "It all seems so strange, Mr. Van Duren." "What is it that seems so strange, dearest?" "Why, that a man like you, who have seen so much of the world, who must have seen and known so many ladies, both in England and abroad, should really profess to care about a foolish, frivolous girl like me." "You are neither foolish nor frivolous. Besides which, you are different from any one whom I ever met before. More than all, you are my fate." "Your fate, Mr. Van Duren!"