"You _did_ write it! I knew it when I heard it, sir. I am so delighted! I knew the instant she played it, and she thought so too; but of course we could not be quite sure." He made the very slightest gesture of impatience. "Never mind the 'Tone-Wreath'! There are May-bells enough on the hills that we are to go to." I was insensibly reminded of his race; but its bitterness was all sheathed in beauty when I looked again. So beautiful was he that I could not help looking at his face. So we are drawn to the evening star, so to the morning roses; but with how different a spell! For just where theirs is closed, did his begin its secret, still attraction; the loveliness, the symmetry were lost as the majestic spirit seized upon the soul through the sight, and conquered. "You have not told me your name. Is it so difficult for me to pronounce? I will try very hard to say it, and I wish to know it." No "I will" was ever so irresistible.--"Charles Auchester." "That is a tell-tale name. But I can never forget what was written for me on your forehead the day you were so kind to me in a foreign country. Do you like me, Charles,--well enough to wish to know me?" I can never describe the innocent regality of his manner here,--it was something never to be imagined, that voice in that peculiar key. "Sir, I know how many friends you must have, and how they must admire you. I don't think any of them love you as I do, and always did ever since that day. I wish I could tell you, but it's of no use. I can't, though I quite burn to tell you, and to make you know. I do love you better than I love my life, and you are the only person I love better than music. I would go to the other end of the world, and never see you any more, rather than I would be in your way or tire you. Will you believe me?" "Come!" he answered brightly, delicately, "I know all you wish to say, because I can feel myself; but I could not bear you at the other end of the world just now, because I like you near me; and were you and I to go away from each other, as we must, I should still feel you near me, for whatever is, or has been, is forever to me." "Sir, I can only thank you, and that means more than I can say; but I cannot think why you like me. It is most exquisite, but I do not understand it." He smiled, and his eye kindled. "I shall not tell you, I see you do not know; I do not wish for you to know. But tell me now, will you not, do you enter the school this semester?" "Yes, sir, I believe so,--at least, I came here on purpose; but Aronach does not tell us much, you know, sir." "Is that tall young gentleman to enter?" "Yes, sir,--Marc Iskar." "And the least,--how do you name him?" Like a flash of lightning a conception struck me through and through. "Sir, he is called Starwood Burney, from England. How I do wish I might tell you something!" "You can tell me anything; there is plenty of time and room, and no one to hear, if it be a pretty little secret."