On the same evening Daireen was sitting in her usual place far astern. The sun had set some time, and the latitude being only a few degrees south of the equator, the darkness had already almost come down upon the waters. It was dimmer than twilight, but not the solid darkness of a tropical night. The groups of passengers had all dispersed or gone forward, and the only sounds were the whisperings of the water in the wake of the steamer, and the splashing of the flying fish. Suddenly from the cabin there came the music of the piano, and a low voice singing to its accompaniment--so faint it came that Daireen knew no one on deck except herself could hear the voice, for she was sitting just beside the open fanlight of the saloon; but she heard every word that was sung: I. When the vesper gold has waned: When the passion-hues of eve Breathe themselves away and leave Blue the heaven their crimson stained, But one hour the world doth grieve, For the shadowy skies receive Stars so gracious-sweet that they Make night more beloved than day. II From my life the light has waned: Every golden gleam that shone Through the dimness now las gone. Of all joys has one remained? Stays one gladness I have known? Day is past; I stand, alone, Here beneath these darkened skies, Asking--“Doth a star arise?" |IT ended so faintly that Daireen Gerald could not tell when the last note had come. She felt that she was in a dream and the sounds she had heard were but a part of her dream--sounds? were these sounds, or merely the effect of breathing the lovely shadowy light that swathed the waters? The sounds seemed to her the twilight expressed in music. Then in the silence she heard a voice speaking her name. She turned and saw Oswin Markham standing beside her. “Miss Gerald,” he said, “I owe my life to you. I thank you for it.” He could hardly have expressed himself more simply if he had been thanking her for passing him a fig at dinner, and yet his words thrilled her. “No, no; do not say that,” she said, in a startled voice. “I did nothing--nothing that any one else might not have done. Oh, do not talk of it, please.” “I will not,” he said slowly, after a pause. “I will never talk of it again. I was a fool to speak of it to you. I know now that you understand--that there is no need for me to open my lips to you.”